


Louder (Satan x Reader)

by sondepoch



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Aftercare, Bed Sex, Cunnilingus, Dildos, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotions, F/M, Female Reader, Femdom, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kinda, Missionary, Multiple Orgasms, No Feelings, Porn With Plot, Riding, Sex Between Friends, Shibari, Shower Sex, Slight Overstimulation, Smut, Wall Sex, Wholesome, loving, ropes, ruined orgasm, satan doesnt like lucifer, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sondepoch/pseuds/sondepoch
Summary: Your roommate wakes you up every morning to the sound of sex. His roommate keeps him up late every night doing the same thing.And after another day of venting your frustrations out to each other, it becomes clear: it’s time to pull an Uno Reverse Card, bitch. It’s time to get wild and get down, because you and Satan are about to pay your obnoxious roommates back in full with the loudest sex they’ve ever heard.
Relationships: Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Simeon/Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 761





	1. Louder I

"I don't even use a fucking alarm anymore."

Your glare as you aggressively stab the tomato in your salad, the immediate _squirt_ of juice that bursts forth bringing your mind to a much darker place, the very _thought_ deepening your scowl.

"I don't even know how they _do_ it," You continue to rant, not bothering to look into Satan's amused eyes.

"At _five_ in the fucking morning, too. Every goddamn day. Like a pair of dumb donkeys that don't know how to do anything else. It's like clockwork. And you'd think that a shut-in like Levi would at least _try_ to be quiet, but _no!_ I swear to god, he screams louder with Simeon domming him than he does when he goes to Ruri-chan's concerts—and the _dirty_ talk. Holy fuck, they _both_ have praise kinks, and it's like if they're not moaning the entire apartment complex awake, they have to be _telling_ each other how goodit is."

The blond in front of you snorts at your description, watching you continue to abuse your salad as you doubtlessly imagine one of the two boys responsible for your lack of sleep facing the brunt of your stabs—or perhaps you're imagining yourself stabbing them in a more _intimate_ location? One which, without a doubt, would put an _end_ to your being woken to the sounds of sex between your roommate and his boyfriend every day?

"I'd say it's still not the most awful thing in the world," Satan finally says, choosing to speak only after you've stuffed a combination of cucumbers, lettuce, and a soggy crouton into your mouth. "Leviathan and Simeon are at least _considerate_. They're loud, but they fuck each other in the morning _because_ they don't want to disturb you with the sound." Still chewing, you shoot an unimpressed look Satan's way. He puts his hands up defensively. "I never said they were _good_ at it."

"It's _hell,"_ You hiss, the words spilling out in a low growl the moment you've swallowed. "Considerate or not, they wake me up at _five_ in the morning when my classes don't start until eleven. Do you _know_ what that feels like, Satan? Do you fucking _know?"_

"Oh please," Your best friend scoffs, his eyes narrowing. "You act like Leviathan and Simeon are bad, but Lucifer and Diavolo are _ten_ times worse. When you wake up in the morning, at least you can do something productive once they're done because the day has begun. But my brother and his _idiot_ boyfriend start fucking at midnight and go at it for so long that sometimes they don't stop till they hear _birds_ chirping."

The blond exhales sharply through his nose, eyebrows furrowing in agitation. "And unlike the couple disturbing _you,_ Lucifer doesn't _care_ whether I'm annoyed by it because if I bang on his door and shout at him to shut up, he and Diavolo just get _louder."_

Now it's your turn to laugh and smile, because the image of Satan trying to sleep at eleven in the night in preparation for his morning classes while being disturbed by his brother's sexcapades is _quite_ amusing, especially when you consider how the blonde has always _hated_ staying up late.

"Boo-hoo," You quip with a smile, still thinking that _you've_ been dealt the rougher hand. "You have the opportunity to plug in earbuds and a night lamp and study _all night_ , if you want. If RAD allowed it, I wouldn't even _mind_ trading dorms because that actually _aligns_ with my sleep schedule, unlike the shit Simeon and Levi pull."

"Fucking night owl," Satan blurts, glaring at you— _painfully_ jealous of the fact that, as you just mentioned, your sleeping habits would allow you to function just fine even with Lucifer and Diavolo's obnoxious sex habits.

"Fucking early bird," You respond swiftly, returning Satan's sharp glare with one of your own, _all_ too aware of how easy things would be for _him_ if he were in your shoes.

The two of you remain like that for a moment, eyebrows dropped and gazes fixed in expressions of irritation—before you both burst into laughter, a fit of giggles spilling from your mouth while Satan's frown melts into a silly grin.

"Sometimes," You muse out loud, leaning on your elbow as you begin to eat your salad more peacefully. "Sometimes, I think about bringing a guy home and fucking him _senseless_ so that Simeon and Levi realize how loud they are."

"And why haven't you?"

"I dunno. I was ranting to Belphie about it, and he told me that it'd be unethical or some shit like that if I used someone like that without telling them that it was only as some kind of petty revenge against my roommate. And I _really_ don't wanna have that talk with some rando."

"You don't want some rando, huh?" Satan asks, grinning.

You nod absentmindedly and hum in response, stabbing another soggy crouton before bringing it to your lips. Satan watches you with a Cheshire-like grin on his face as he watches you bite around the food.

"I mean, you could always ask _me_ to do it."

You choke.

Clutching the table as you cough the crouton down your throat—which now feels like it has descended down the wrong pipe—you meekly accept the glass of water Satan pushes your way to wash the _horrible_ choking feeling down.

 _"Please_ don't tell me you said what I think you just did," You blurt the moment you're ready to speak, flashing Satan an entirely unimpressed look.

He raises his hands in defense. "All I'm saying is that I'd be willing to help you if you'd help me. It's not like Lucifer cares if I fuck—as you so eloquently worded it—'some rando' while he's in the other room with Diavolo. You're probably the _only_ person who would actually disturb him sufficiently that he _changes_ his habits."

"No," You respond, lips quirking into an amused smile. Your best friend certainly has one of the best bodies you've ever seen, but you're hardly in the mood to jeopardize your friendship for a few more hours of sleep every morning. "Tempting as that offer is, it's a no from me."

"Your call," Satan responds, his lips curved into a boyish grin. "But my offer stands, in case you change your mind."

"Alright," You snort, reaching for your fork.

Conversation continues on from there smoothly, the two of you complaining a little more about your respective roommates (and their boyfriends) before moving onto more relevant topics. The remainder of the hour is spent debating politics, arguing over where you should eat for lunch tomorrow, and sharing your concerns about the upcoming midterms; Satan's offer to _have sex with you_ never comes up again.

But that doesn't mean it ever leaves your mind.

The thought stays with you for the remainder of the month, a tempting proposal you're faced with every time you're woken to the sounds of grunts and moaning.

Yet, you manage to persevere.

For three weeks, you push the notion to the back of your head and grit your teeth every time you wake, scowling and continuing to rant to your best friend at lunch while he shares his own grievances about Lucifer and Diavolo. You nearly forget about the suggestion altogether when midterms finally hit, and you're swamped with studies. In fact, during that period, you're almost _relieved_ when Levi and Simeon wake you up every morning, because it's just another thing that drags you out of bed and _forces_ you to study for all your exams.

But when the last of your midterms are over? And you come home in a daze, hand only _now_ beginning to cramp after writing so vigorously, before collapsing in bed without even changing your clothes, fully intending to sleep through the next week? And you wake up _four hours later_ to the sound of Simeon and Levi screaming each other's names _again?_

The sheer _rage_ that fills you is unlike anything you've ever seen.

You're nearly _growling_ as you brush your teeth and throw on fresh clothes, seething to yourself about how it's _Saturday_ and _why the fuck did they wake you up on Saturday_ and _holy fuck you've been sleep deprived for over a week_ and _why couldn't they let you sleep in for ONE Saturday?!_

Suddenly, Satan's offer seems all too tempting in your ears and, before you know it, you're storming out of the dorm, ignoring the sounds of Levi's garbled moans as Simeon gasps praise into his ears, ignoring the _bird's nest_ that is your hair while stomping your way to Satan's dorm.

You don't bother knocking, too enraged and sleepy and _angry_ as you find the spare key taped to the underside of the large _666_ that labels their dorm number, thrusting it into the lock and ignoring the fact that you're practically breaking and entering. Without a second thought, you storm into Satan's room, kicking the door open. For once, you're _relieved_ that the two of you had the same midterm schedule, because although it prevented you from seeing or helping each other at all of last week, it's the reason why you can barge into his room without fear, knowing that you're not compromising his performance on any potential exams.

Satan groans instinctively as he hears the sound of his door opening, eyes flashing in confusion as he makes out _your_ figure standing in his room, arms crossed and expression fixed in pure _anger._

He sits up groggily, the thin blanket falling off his body to reveal his bare chest, as he calls your name, quietly wondering if this is a dream or a hallucination or some freakish twist of reality.

"Did I do something?" He asks, noticing your irritated scowl, immediately assuming that it's pointed at _him_.

Your heart softens somewhat at that, quietly noting that Satan truly _is_ a morning person—because if he were to wake you from _your_ precious sleep like this, you would hardly be asking that question in such a gentle tone—and you relax your scowl just the _slightest_ , stepping forward.

"Not _you,"_ You mutter, voice still carrying the traces of your earlier anger. "Simeon and Levi. Sex. Morning. _Again."_

Satan instantly understands your issue, sensing how irate and _resentful_ you are right now after having your slumber snatched from you, and his lips curve into a sympathetic smile as he pats the space next to him while moving over.

After kicking your shoes away, you don't hesitate to burrow down next to him.

"You said I could fuck you with them in the next room to show them how loud they are and make them stop," You mumble into Satan's chest, anger beginning to dissipate as you rest your head on his pillow. "I'm taking you up on your offer."

"Sure thing," Your best friend responds groggily, throwing a lazy arm over your body in an attempt to squeeze you both in on the small dorm bed. "But before we do that, I need us to do the same thing _here_ ," Satan groans, his voice dropping into a low growl again.

You open your eyes in amusement at that, quietly realizing that just as Levi and Simeon woke you up in the morning, Lucifer and Diavolo must have been fucking last night—and the furrow of Satan's brow confirms your suspicions when you note how utterly _exhausted_ he looks despite usually being energetic in the mornings. No doubt, the dark circles underneath his eyes are markers of more than just a college student who has survived midterms.

Satan received little to no sleep last night, just like you.

"Three in the morning," Satan mutters angrily, tugging you closer as he blocks out the morning sun with your hair. "They didn't stop fucking each other until _three_ in the _goddamn_ morning."

"We'll get them to stop," You mumble in response, already beginning to drift off. "Tonight, we'll show _them_ what it fucking feels like to have to listen to that shit."

"Yeah," Satan mumbles, and you can feel his muscles relax as you wrap your arms around his waist. He mumbles something incomprehensible, a low mutter of breath, and then you've both drifted off, finally returning to a slumber that _won't_ be disrupted by sounds of sex.

The two of you remain like that for five more hours, holding each other close and sleeping contently the way you used to when you were children—and even Lucifer smiles softly when he opens his brother's door to check why the blonde isn't already up as he usually is (ever ignorant and somewhat uncaring of the fact that he and Diavolo are the primary reason his brother is so exhausted in the first place). In fact, Satan _still_ rises out of bed before you, slipping out of your arms and pulling the blanket higher on your body with a gentle kiss to your temple before stretching and beginning his usual morning routine, which consists of breakfast, studies, and insulting Lucifer.

You wake much later, when it's nearly afternoon and Satan is lost in a book of poetry. And yet, even as you stretch and pull yourself from the rather comfortable bedsheets, all either of you can think about is the short discussion you had this morning—where it was mutually agreed upon that you would be spending the night together to counter any additional 'activities' between Lucifer and Diavolo.

"Satan?" You finally ask as the two of you eat instant noodles while watching cartoons on his couch.

"Hm?" He regards you casually while keeping his eyes focused on the television.

"Are we actually going to have sex?"

The blonde pauses from his attempt to raise a forkful of noodles to his mouth, softly dropping his fork back into the bowl as he mutes the TV and sets his full attention on you, the usually-soft green eyes now looking serious as his gaze bores into you.

"Do you want to?" He asks seriously. "I'm glad to do anything that might make Lucifer uncomfortable enough to stop fucking Diavolo so noisily every night, but I don't want to make _you_ uncomfortable in the process."

"I mean..." You trail off, setting your bowl down in your lap. "I mostly came to you because I was annoyed with my roommates, but the idea of waking up like a _normal_ human being is _really_ tempting."

"So..." Satan trails off.

There's a moment of silence.

"So you want to do it," You say hesitantly, and Satan quietly nods. "And I want to do it," You continue, pointing at yourself. "Does that mean...we're doing it?"

Another hesitant nod from Satan.

The two of you look at each other wide-eyed, acutely aware of what you both just agreed to.

And there's nothing but silence.

Then, the sound of a giggle.

You smile mischievously up at Satan, waggling your eyebrows suggestively at him before he flashes you a flirtatious wink, and then the two of you have descended into full-blown laughter as you desperately try to regain control of yourselves.

In the end, it's _Lucifer_ who manages to quiet the two of you, coming out of his room with an irritated expression on his face.

"What's all this noise?" He calls as he approaches the two of you, his frown never leaving his face until he sees that it's _you_ Satan's with.

"Oh, so _now_ you care about noise," Your best friend mumbles under his breath—a comment that you ignore.

"Lucifer!" You exclaim with a grin, hopping off the couch to trap him in a big hug. Satan scoffs immediately at the sight, always having disapproved of your close relationship with his brother despite his various attempts to get you to see that Lucifer's actually an _awful_ person, and crosses his arms at the very sight.

"Did you and Satan have a sleepover last night?" Lucifer asks, referring to how he saw the two of you cuddled up next to each other in the morning, akin to pretty much every other instance of when the two of you have spent the night at the other's home.

"Not yesterday," You respond, smiling sweetly. "But we're having one tonight!"

Behind you, Satan chokes on his noodles, entirely _shook_ with how innocent you're playing it up for Lucifer. A wicked grin crosses his face as he watches his brother smile softly down at you, patting your head. Oh, how he _wishes_ he could see the look of _horror_ that will cross Lucifer's face when he realizes _what_ you and Satan are doing on your supposed 'sleepover.'

"Oh?" Lucifer asks, still smiling. "Well, as long as you keep Satan out of trouble, I'm not complaining."

"Don't worry!" You grin. "I plan to keep him _very_ busy tonight."

Lucifer nods at that, entirely unsuspecting as he kisses you on the top of your head and remarks that he's heading out to pick up Diavolo, leaving you and Satan on the couch where you glance at each other like devious masterminds until the man is gone, the door locked and the sound of his footsteps faded away.

"Lucifer is _never_ going to look at you the same way after this," Satan mumbles, still grinning.

"Hey, I'm willing to do whatever it takes for the two of us to finally have a normal sleep schedule," You quip in return, reaching for your bowl of noodles. "And after we're done _here_ , we're going back to _my_ apartment to handle Simeon and Levi, right?"

Satan nods instantly, smiling in confirmation.

It's hardly long, then, before the two of you have finished dinner and are casually resting on the couch, chatting aimlessly about whether Toph or King Bumi would win in an all-out fight. For a moment, the two of you seem to forget about your plans to fuck each other, but the realization comes crashing down on both your shoulders the moment Lucifer comes home, stumbling inside while making out with Diavolo, their hair still a little wet from the rain outside.

Neither man bothers acknowledging you or Satan—not even Diavolo, who usually makes it a point to ask you how your day went—and when the two of them have disappeared behind the door of Lucifer's room, Satan's gaze flies straight to you.

"We're doing this?" He asks in confirmation, sitting up straighter on the couch.

"We're doing this," You nod, standing up.

"Wait," He mumbles, motioning for you to pause. The blond grins as he finds the keys Lucifer tossed recklessly onto the table, pocketing them with a laugh. "And now," Satan explains. "Lucifer and Diavolo really _will_ have to go through the same pain I deal with every night."

You shake your head with a smile, laughing lightly as Satan grins while gesturing for you to follow him to his room.

Things are casual— _strangely_ casual—as the two of you lock the door and plop yourselves down on the bed, facing each other while sitting down. The mood is hardly sexual, hardly intimate, hardly anything other than _normal_ as Satan leans back, talking.

"If tonight is like every other goddamn night that they've had sex," He says, voice only a _little_ exasperated. "Then they're going to eat each others' faces for half an hour before the foreplay starts. We're going to have to be loud if we want them to hear us before then, probably louder than normal."

"Aye aye, captain," You joke, saluting formally.

Satan rolls his eyes at that, scoffing at your antics, but then a drawn-out gasp of "Lucifer!" from the other side of the wall causes both of you to stiffen, and you're abruptly reminded of _what_ you're about to be doing.

Another long moan stirs you both into action.

"You ready?" Satan asks, arching an eyebrow. "We still don't have to do this if you don't want to."

You shake your head. "I'm ready," You blurt. "How about you?"

"I'm...ready as well."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, only _now_ beginning to hesitate. But, really, all doubts have been waited out, and there's only one thing left: for the two of you to begin.

Satan is the one to lean in.

He closes the gap between your lips hesitantly—a stark contrast to the way he's kissed all the other girls you've seen him with. And though you _know_ he's doing it to be tender, he's doing it to earn your trust, he's doing it to show you that even though you're doing _this_ , he's not going to be forceful with you, you can't help the small giggle that spills from your lips.

At first, Satan smiles in turn, pressing his lips deeper against yours—but then you're actually _laughing_ , pushing him backward by the chest and trying to steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders as you continue to titter incessantly.

"Oh, _seriously?"_ Satan asks in exasperation, pulling back and crossing his arms, a cute pout forming on his face.

"I—I'm _sorry!"_ You manage to say through your laughter. "It's just—it felt so _serious_ , and I couldn't believe that it was _us_ and that we were _kissing!"_

You laugh even more at that, the words sounding entirely preposterous when they leave your mouth, and Satan leans back entirely.

"If you're done, I'd like to kiss you."

Cue even _more_ laughter.

Satan scowls.

"Oh," You mumble, seeing that he's beginning to grow irritated. "Don't look so irritated," You say, trying to hide the giggle that punctuates your sentence. "Here," You murmur, cupping his cheek. "Look," You mumble, pressing your forehead to his with a grin on your face. "I'll kiss _you,"_ You say, pressing your lips to his again. It takes all your effort not to reveal how utterly _amusing_ it is that the two of you are kissing after so many years of keeping each other in a 'friend zone' which dictated that you would never be able to touch each other like this.

"Oh, _shut up,"_ Satan growls, silencing you with a pointed glare, and it's good that the words left his lip when they did because had he not said them, you _absolutely_ would have launched into another little rant about how ridiculous it is that the two of you are doing this.

He presses your body back on the bed and hovers over you, the earlier hesitance faded from his actions as he now begins to treat you with the same dominance you've seen other girls get, and he locks his lips with yours once more, kissing you with more intensity than before.

You smile even into this kiss, relaxing your body as your arms wrap around Satan's neck and your fingers go up to tangle in his hair, and it's only when his arms snake around your waist that the smile fades from your face and you stop seeing the _humor_ of this situation, all prior thoughts being replaced by the fact that his _hand_ is on the back of your _thigh._

You freeze at the realization, abruptly understanding that this touch is unlike anything you and Satan have ever shared before.

It's something intimate, bordering on possessive. A touch that has _never_ been introduced to your friendship.

Satan pulls back when he notices the way you've stopped moving. He withdraws his hands, setting them comfortably on your waist as he does so often, gazing at you with concerned eyes.

"Is this still okay?" He asks, and by the look in his eyes, you _know_ that he's leaving this entirely up to you. That he genuinely doesn't want this unless you do, and that he won't go a step further unless you will it.

He brushes his thumb over your skin, drawing soft circles there. "You're not laughing anymore."

You look up at his green eyes hesitantly, reading his expression for any hints of hesitation, regret, or unwillingness, but upon seeing none, you relax.

"It stopped being funny," You mumble, lowering one hand from his hair to cup his cheek, feeling the smooth skin and pressing your forehead to his. Your next words come out in a soft mumble. "This isn't going to change anything, right? We're still going to be friends after this?"

You hate yourself for asking the question, but it needs to be asked. It's the only thing holding you back.

"Of course," Satan answers, lips curving into his usual, coy smile. "The gods have cursed me to be your best friend from now till the end of time, so you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"How kind of you," You say, grinning. His words, so casual and light, give you a renewed sense of confidence, and you tug on his hair. "Then let's keep going."

Satan nods.

You both seem to lean in at the same time, hesitantly kissing each other—and truly, it's a kiss among friends. There are no romantic feelings, no wild feelings of passion, no absurd sparks flying. It's simply two friends, trusting each other to the fullest with their bodies, locking lips and about to connect in the closest way possible.

You hum quietly as Satan bites on your bottom lip, opening your mouth to let him in—and _god_ , his lips feel _addictive_ with the way he presses them against your own, the movement never seeming to end even as your tongues dance and you part for air. You grip Satan's hair tighter, earning a low groan from him, and the sound is like _music_ to your ears. You do it again—and then your actions seem to have awakened something inside your friend and when he presses his lips back to yours, his kisses are no longer soft, now replaced with the familiar, powerful dominance you've seen him handle others with.

His hands fly back down to gripping your thighs, strong fingers wrapping around the supple muscle of where your shorts have exposed your skin. You don't even flinch at the touch, instead savoring it as he squeezes the backs of your thighs once, the only warning you get before he's sitting upright while lifting you onto his lap.

The two of you part only briefly as you settle into the new position, and you abruptly realize that Satan has his back pressed to the wall behind him—the same wall that separates the two of you from Lucifer and Diavolo.

Your eyes connect only momentarily, but years of friendship have made it such that one brief glance is all you need to read each other's minds, and that's all it takes to confirm that you're thinking the same thing. Within seconds, the two of you are attacking each other's shirts in a frenzy to do what you came here to do.

Satan slides your top off easily, leaning back only for a brief moment before his fingers are hooked underneath the base of the fabric and have pulled the whole thing over your head, throwing it aside. You, on the other hand, struggle with pulling the green sweater he's always wearing off, scowling cutely when you realize it's stuck just beneath his chin.

"Gentle," Your best friend warns you, slipping the shirt off and tossing it to the ground.

"Shush," You mumble, reaching for his belt buckle.

"So hasty," Satan mumbles absentmindedly, leaning back against the wall to admire your exposed top half while you unhook his gaudy belt, throwing it to the ground with a sharp _thwump._ "Easy with the belt," The blonde mumbles, frowning. "I like that one."

"Your belt is hideous," You answer in turn, tagging Satan closer to you as you pull your body off the bed, bringing him to the edge of it.

The man's pants are much easier to take off, and you pull him into a deep kiss as your fingers take their time to unbutton and unzip his jeans, aided by Satan's own fingers which help you maintain your speed.

Within seconds, his pants are dropped to his ankles, and you've kneeled down in front of him, fingers toying with the base of his Calvin Klein underwear with a questioning look in your eye.

You can _hear_ Satan's voice hitch as he looks at you.

"Can I?" You say, the words coming out as a whisper. And it's all Satan can do to swallow and nod his head shakily as you pull his underwear down, watching curiously as his cock bounces free of its restraints.

No longer looking at him, you take a hand and begin running your finger along the length, trailing from tip to base while placing chaste kisses here and there.

Your ministrations work _beautifully._

You've heard Satan rant half a hundred times to you after one night stands about how so many girls are too aggressive with their hands, entirely underestimating a man's sensitivity and never bothering to inquire about it. So you keep his words in mind as you continue to be as gentle as possible, your little movements spurred on by the sharp inhales you hear Satan take every time your finger ghosts over the top.

You close your hand over the length, holding him loosely while your thumb gently brushes the underside of the tip, leaning forward to place a wet kiss on his balls where your tongue peeks out to meet them just the slightest.

 _"Fuck,"_ Satan mumbles, the word escaping his lips in a low hiss as he grips the sheets, leaning back and closing his eyes. "You're good at this. _Really_ fucking good at this."

 _Only because you've ranted to me about this so much,_ you want to say, but you opt to remain silent as you continue to handle Satan's dick with the utmost care, continuing to pepper his skin with kisses until he's hard.

He _is_ more sensitive than most of the guys you've been with, you note. Then again, Satan might only be responding to your touch so well because you're _consciously_ treating him with more care than you've handled any of your past one night stands, firmly believing that your best friend deserves only the best treatment. You continue to work delicately between his legs, finally sucking on his balls before trailing upwards, licking his length from the base to the tip, where you remain, lips surrounding the very end but not quite opened around it.

You glance upward at Satan, tossing him a sweet smile.

And you take him into your mouth.

Opening up for him as wide as you physically can, you move your tongue slowly along his shaft as it continues to disappear down your mouth, raising one hand to slowly massage his balls. Then you withdraw all the way to the tip, where you give it a firm suck, before descending once more, going a little further, where you continue this over and over again until his cock has hit the back of your throat.

"Don't..." Satan begins, his voice weak as he stares down at your expectant eyes. You push yourself down a little further, feeling your eyes tear up at the sensation, but nonetheless, you're willing to do this for _Satan's_ sake. "Don't push yourself unless you can— _hah_ —"

You smile victoriously around his length, savoring the low moan that you pulled from Satan's lips when you swallow around him, abruptly realizing that this must be one of his weak spots. You swallow around him again and he _hisses_ , and you push yourself a little further down his cock.

"I'm _serious,"_ Satan mumbles, and you can feel how his thighs twitch with the urge to buck into your mouth. His hands are gripping the sheets so tightly you fear he'll tear them. _"Don't_ push yourself."

You roll your eyes at that, now deciding that, if anything, you'll push yourself _even_ more, and you press your head farther down until the soft, blond curls at the base of his dick are tickling your face—the absolute farthest you can go.

You swallow thickly, trying to blink back the tears that immediately spring to your eyes, but you continue, leaning all the way back and pushing yourself all the way down, hollowing your cheeks as you go faster and faster until Satan's breathing is no longer steady and he's threaded a desperate hand in your hair that twitches every time you swallow, every time your tongue runs under his tip.

It's hardly any more time before you've identified _all_ his weak spots and are thoroughly exploiting them every time your mouth brushes by, focusing more on the suctioning of your cheeks and the movement of your tongue than the painful way your throat threatens to constrict every time you deepthroat Satan.

"Fuck," Satan mumbles under his breath, and you glance up at him as you continue your little movements. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck."_

You feel his hand tense in your hair as you push yourself down on his length once more, now hardly an inch from the actual base—and you can _feel_ his immediate urge to push you down further, to be rough with _you_ the way he is with everyone else and to buck into your mouth for a perfect finisher.

But he doesn't.

Withdrawing his hand from your hair, Satan grips the sheets again until his knuckles turn milky white, and he flinches his hips _away_ from your face in a desperate attempt to restrain himself.

You exhale through your nose, the closest thing to a sigh you can do, and you withdraw completely, sucking insistently on the tip before pulling your mouth off his dick entirely, glancing up at Satan as you do so.

"You don't have to treat me like I'm going to break at any second," You mumble quietly, reaching for Satan's hand. He glances at you with curious eyes but allows you to guide his hand to your hair, leaving it there with a squeeze. "I _know_ you're not like this with other girls. You can be rough with me, too."

Satan remains quiet at that, knowing that there's truth to your words.

"I don't want to hurt you," He mumbles, glancing away. "If I lose control, I'll be too strong for you to stop me."

"Come on, Satan," You mumble, now leaning back with a questioning look on your face. "If you've never lost control with others, why would you lose control around me?"

"Because you're _better_ than everyone else," The man hisses, glaring at the ground. "And if I hurt you by mistake, I'll never be able to forgive myself."

"Satan," You sigh, rising from your spot between his knees so you can sit next to him. _"Remember_ why we're doing this. Lucifer and Diavolo are still in the next room, yeah? You have to fuck me senseless until I'm _screaming_ your name, louder than they _ever_ have been. And that's not going to happen if you're treating me like I can't handle it a little rough. Besides," You say, leaning in close to his ear. "I _like it_ rough."

You see Satan's fingers twitch with anticipation at that, the man's face beginning to break into a smile at your words of reassurance.

"Okay," He mumbles, turning to you, his green eyes shining beautifully.

The two of you grin.

He captures your lips in another kiss, one of his hands now darting down to slip off the spandex shorts you'd been wearing, lifting you and ditching them on the ground as he carries you to the side of the bed, setting you down such that your back is against the wall that divides his and Lucifer's rooms.

You stare at him with a questioning look as he kneels in front of you, one hand already ghosting along the fabric of your purple underwear, with a catlike grin on his face.

"What?" You ask, suspicious of his sudden change in demeanor.

"Nothing," Satan responds, placing a quick kiss to your thigh. "Let's just see how long you can remain standing for, shall we?"

You arch your eyebrows at that, mildly amused at his blatant confidence, but don't comment on it as he begins to kiss along your thigh, lips only briefly coming into contact with the outer band of your underwear.

You smile into the sensation, almost _liking_ the teasing licks he gives here and there, a soft moan spilling from your lips when Satan moves to the low center of your underwear, pressing a kiss against your sex.

Your thighs twitch the moment his lips brush against the bundle of nerves, ever so sensitive even through the underwear, and your hand flies to his hair, loosely gripping the soft locks while making a futile attempt to tug him back to your clit when he moves away, peppering your thighs with wet kisses.

"Satan," You whine, trying to get him to stop teasing you.

"What's that?" He mumbles against the fabric of your underwear, giving it an airy suck _so_ painfully close to where you want him to go but just not close enough. Satan grins up at you. "If you want me to do something, you're going to have to be a little _louder_ than that."

Your eyes go wide at the implication, abruptly understanding the reason for why Satan looked so mischievous when he first dived between your legs.

Your thighs twitch in anticipation, and you quietly divert your attention from Satan to the noises coming from the other side of the wall you're pressed against, listening to the sounds of rustling clothing as Lucifer and Diavolo grow friskier.

"S-Satan," You say, giving your voice a little added volume.

"Louder," He mumbles nonchalantly, moving away from where you want him to be, going back to your thighs.

"No!" You blurt, your voice going back to a normal speaking tone in your desperation. "S-Satan! Please!"

"Please what, darling?" He asks, brushing his lips against your clit once more. And the sensation is hardly _anything_ , it's so minuscule, but even that tiny contact sends a rush straight to your legs, and you almost whimper at the realization of how worked up Satan has you.

"Your tongue," You say, consciously keeping your voice a little on the louder side. _"Please,"_ You add for effect.

"Of course," Satan responds, nodding his head before giving your underwear a long lick, brushing his tongue from your thighs to your clit. Only the friction is entirely unforgiving and gives you _none_ of the relief you're seeking, and it only _further_ works you up, knowing that Satan's tongue is so close but still so far.

Your hips buck into his mouth against your will, and Satan chuckles, but he continues to tease you, giving you nothing tangible to savor as he licks your thighs and dampens your underwear with his tongue, now avoiding your clit entirely until you're nearly _trembling_ with need.

"No!" You whine, tugging his hair closer. "C-clit!" You manage to stammer out in your desperation, but Satan is so _obnoxious_ that he heeds your words with painful precision, laying his tongue flat against your cunt but refusing to move it, staring up at you with a playful look in his eyes.

"Satan!" You practically shout, now feeling like you're going to _cry_ if he doesn't give you what you want. "Get _rid_ of my underwear and _use_ your goddamn _tongue!"_

"Of course," Satan says while grinning at you, deftly yanking your underwear off.

You only have a second to realize what he did—to realize that the sounds of grunting and moaning from the other room, which had turned into background noise, have now faded and that there's not a _single_ doubt that Lucifer and Diavolo heard you—and the sudden thought fills you with both shame and glee.

But in a second, that fact doesn't even _matter_ because Satan is _finally_ using his tongue the way you wanted him to from the start, and you're moaning without any inhibitions holding you back as he delves between your folds.

"Holy _shit,"_ You gasp out loud as Satan finds the _perfect_ angle that brushes his tongue against your clit while dancing between every other part of your dripping center, and you're a moaning, trembling mess as he continues to suck shamelessly at the wetness between your legs that only grows slicker with each passing second.

You close your eyes, a shudder running through your spine as your hips buck into Satan's mouth, now beginning to grind desperately against his tongue.

"Satan," You mumble, pressing your back against the wall, fingers gripping his hair tightly to hold his head in place. "I—fuck—I can't— _oh_ —I'm gonna—"

Words stumble out of your mouth in an incoherent jumble, and then your brain blanks _entirely_ as Satan continues to suckle at that _one_ spot that makes your knees tremble.

"Cum," Satan finishes your sentence for you, looking up and grinning at your expression as you come undone above him, pure euphoria washing over your face as you slip into bliss, the tight grip on his hair loosening as even your fingers go numb for a moment, leaving you a gasping for air as you struggle to hold yourself up.

But the moment you regain the _slightest_ shred of awareness, Satan has resumed his work between your legs and he's tasting your sweetness with even _more_ fervor, spurred on by the _beautiful_ sight of your face as you writhed above him, desperate to see it again.

"Wait—" You blurt, trying to tug his hair away, still too sensitive from your first orgasm for the man to be eating you out _again_ , but Satan barely pays you any mind, his tongue swirling over your clit and then poking inside your entrance, going back and forth between the two until the hand you have pressed atop Satan's head is in equal parts a tool for you to control his movements and an aid to keep you standing.

Satan hums quietly, the vibrations rushing from your core to every other part of your body, leaving a tingling sensation between your legs as he continues to draw figure eights along your lower lips, kissing and licking and overwhelming you with sensation until your eyes are scrunched tight, unable to even _look_ anywhere as he continues to flood you with pleasure.

"Oh no," You mumble, feeling a familiar blankness begin to set in. You motion to tug at Satan's hair, but the slightest movement causes the soft locks to tickle the edges of your thigh—and only _now_ , on the brink of orgasm, are you aware of how acutely _delicate_ the feeling of his hair is as it ghosts over the same spots where Satan was kissing and teasing you.

"Satan—I can't hold it back anymore—your hair—too much— _fuck_ —"

Your fingers lose tension as Satan sucks almost violently, and you can no longer even tell _where_ his mouth is as he works you through your orgasm, only aware that he's doing _something_ to send waves of pleasure that pulsate from your core to every inch of your body, eyes rolling back as you let go _completely_ , a wanton moan spilling from your lips that sounds so _lewd_ but so distant, so _loud_ but so far away, so _needy_ but so overwhelmed.

When you come down from your high, you realize that your thighs are balanced on Satan's shoulders, held in place by his hands as he supports your full body weight, patiently pressing wet kisses to your thighs.

"Oh my _god!"_ You mumble when you realize the compromised position you're in, instinctively thrusting your arms out and wobbling atop Satan before he tenses his grip around you, holding you firmly in place.

"Hey," He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your thigh as he looks up at you through sincere eyes. "I've got you."

He grins then, a boyish smile that lets you _know_ he has something more planned for you, and he presses a trail of kisses from your thigh to your most sensitive spot, giving it a tender suck, already prepared to bring you to orgasm a _third_ time on his mouth.

"No!" You blurt, tugging Satan away. Your eyes begin to tear up in anticipation. "It—it's too much, Satan. I can't. I _can't."_

"Shh," He whispers when you continue to plead with him, leaning back. "It's okay. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to," He mumbles, quietly gripping your thighs and moving you so that your body is no longer balanced on top of his shoulders, slowly shifting the two of you until you're both standing on solid ground, though Satan keeps a firm grip on your waist that support most of your weight.

"Thanks," You mutter, suddenly feeling rather abashed as Satan grins down at you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your flushed face.

"No need to thank me just yet," He responds, lifting a hand to your back, his finger stopping only when it's hooked around your bra—the final article of clothing that remains on either of your bodies. "May I?" He asks, fingers already poised around the clasp.

A bashful nod is all it takes for him to pull it off, throwing it behind him without caring where it falls, only fixated on observing _you_ and the beautiful breasts that spill forth. "Perfect," He mumbles, taking one in his hand, eyes mesmerized by the way it moves as he squeezes it, pressing a kiss to your other nipple. "You're absolutely perfect," He repeats, before beginning to suck.

You lean your head back against the wall, giving in entirely to the sensation as Satan continues to flood your nipples with pleasure, your mind so airy and dazed that you can do nothing but moan as he sucks, bites, pulls, and does whatever _else_ he's doing with his fingers that has you feeling ready to pass out.

"You're so perfect," Satan whispers, leaving a trail of kisses from your breasts to your jaw, kissing your cheek before he captures your lips.

"And _you're_ such a tease," You mumble, frowning as your hand makes its way down to loosely grip Satan's cock, another bout of wetness rushing to your core when you realize how _thick_ he is and how _good_ he'll feel inside.

Satan bucks his hips shamelessly into your hand, releasing a loud moan—and you almost tell him to quiet down before you remember that being _loud_ is the reason you two are here in the first place.

You lean your head back, listening to the barely audible sounds of discontent that surface from the other room as Lucifer and Diavolo whisper something furiously—and the thought gives you sick satisfaction, because if they've been making Satan feel the way Levi and Simeon have been making _you_ feel, then the two men absolutely deserve this.

"Satan," You say, grinning as you cup your best friend's cheeks. _"Fuck me."_

Two words, said loud enough that Lucifer and Diavolo _absolutely_ heard them from the other room.

And yet, despite all your cocky boldness, _nothing_ can prepare you for when Satan reacts, instantly dipping a hand between your folds to slide a finger inside.

You rest your head on Satan's shoulder and let out a lewd moan, loud and clear, _savoring_ the way his two fingers—he's now added another one—thrust in and out of you, stretching you deliciously.

Rolling your hips in tandem with Satan's shallow fingerfucking, you make it so _easy_ for him when he finally pulls them out, licking your slick clean off his fingers before reaching for a bottle of lube that had been hidden in plain sight, covering his length smoothly.

"Ready?" He asks, lining himself up with you, holding you by the waist as he rests his forehead against yours.

"Ready."

And only when Satan begins to slide inside you do you realize that you had lied—that you're _not_ ready for Satan's dick and for how _perfectly_ he fits inside you as he presses his body against yours until you're completely filled, hardly able to detect an ounce of the usual discomfort with how smoothly he slipped inside.

 _"Fuck,"_ Someone says—and you're not sure who it is, because a second later your mind blanks because Satan pulls out and thrusts _hard_ , filling you up deeper and better than any guy you've ever been with before.

You let out a gasp and feel your knees buckle as Satan does it again, but this time he's gripping your ass firmly, _encouraging_ you to let go, to wrap both your legs around his torso and let _him_ take care of you completely, responsible for your body weight and your moans and the heavy waves of pleasure he sends your way every time he thrusts.

You feel your inhibitions begin to slip away as your thoughts are slowly replaced by blanks, your words replaced by moans, your legs, once standing and supporting you, now wrapped around Satan's body and _helping_ him thrust into you with how you pull him closer to you every time his cock pulls away.

"Oh my _god."_

Your words come out in a choke, probably the last coherent phrase you'll stutter for a _long_ time, and Satan only continues to thrust into you, the force of his hips snapping your body against the wall and rattling every picture frame, canvas, and dartboard he has hanging.

Your voice is loud, louder than you've ever been in bed, and you bury your face in the crook of Satan's neck to hide the sound of your moans which really _don't_ seem to stop anymore, but Satan only laughs at the attempt.

"Remember why we're here," He mumbles into your ear, halting his thrusting for a moment to give you a _single_ second of clarity. "Be _loud,"_ He hisses, and then he's back to fucking your brains out, hips moving at an _even_ more monstrous rate than before.

You make a sound that hardly sounds human, a mix of a wail and a moan and a whimper all at once, but Satan thrusts _harder._

"Louder," He commands, fingers gripping the soft fat of your ass tighter as he fucks you deeper.

A strangled gasp leaves your mouth again at the feeling of him buried so _deep_ within your walls—but that's still not enough for Satan.

"Louder!"

He fucks you with scary precision, hitting that _one_ spot that makes it feel like the stars have aligned, and you can only heed his request, desperate for _more_ as you moan his name.

 _"Louder!"_ He practically roars, his hips snapping into yours with such force that it leaves you a babbling mess as you moan his name _over_ and _over_ again, so lost in pleasure that you don't even realize that you're _screaming_ his name as you cum over his dick, your walls clenching so tightly around him that he momentarily halts his thrusting to savor the feeling and the _sound_.

"Keep going," Satan demands, his head lowered as he looks at you through hooded eyes, jerking his hips backward to thrust into you, hitting that _same_ spot that's now so overstimulated that it has you shaking.

"F-f-f- _fuck_ —" You gasp, fingers faltering from their grip on his shoulders as your body goes weak. "Satan, it's t-t-too much—"

"What?" Satan questions, the word sharp and almost _cruel_ as it falls from his lips. He looks at you with an expression of _pure_ lust, snapping his hips against yours one more time to hear the garbled moan that leaves your lips. "You said you liked it _rough,"_ He chides, nearly sneering at you as he studies your blissed-out expression. "So, just like you asked, I'm giving it to you _rough."_

He emphasizes that last word with a particularly sharp thrust, his cock hitting you so hard inside that you almost can't even bring yourself to process his words, too overwhelmed by pleasure.

"What's wrong?" He taunts. "Are you saying you can't handle me?" He thrusts. "That you need me to _stop?"_ Another thrust. "That you can't even take what you _asked_ me for?"

You strain your mind to come up with a suitable response, but every time you come up with some semblance of a sentence, Satan thrusts again and your mind is back to square one.

All you can think about is how _cruel_ Satan is being, fucking you better than you've ever been fucked and having _fun_ with it at the same time. And it's only now that you realize your initial request has truly been met—that he, too, has now shed everything that was previously holding him back. That he's no longer fucking you the way he would fuck a best friend he holds dear, instead handling you with the same roughness you always see directed at everyone else. The roughness you've always been _curious_ about, curious to know how it would feel to have your best friend treating _you_ that way.

 _"Fuck,"_ You practically sob, so overwhelmed by pleasure to focus on anything.

"We can stop," Satan says dismissively, acting as if he's disappointed in you. But the way his hips come to a rest lets you know that he's serious, that he's _actually_ giving you this out and that this is your chance to take it. "If you can't handle it rough, then that's _that."_

But the brief clarity you get from being deprived of another delicious thrust from Satan makes you realize that, though every movement makes you feel like you're too flooded to bear any more pleasure, you still _crave_ it.

And you _need_ Satan to keep going.

"No!" You blurt, squeezing your legs around him. "Don't stop— _fuck_ —Satan, _please!"_

You barely have any time to register the wicked grin that crosses Satan's face when he hears you, because then he's fucking your cunt like it's the last thing he'll ever do, thrusting into you with renewed energy.

"S-S-Satan!" You shout, head rolling back as he continues to ram into you mercilessly, and this time, your desperate moans are _real._ They're not loud as a form of revenge against Diavolo and Lucifer, they're not loud because Satan is asking you to project. They're loud because _every_ sensation in your body is _screaming_ Satan's name and you can't hold anything back anymore, giving it _all_ to _him_.

You hardly notice the way your back bangs into the wall, the way every thrust is punctuated by a series of rattles as the picture frames slowly begin to fall off, dropping onto the ground with a clatter that neither you nor Satan notice.

"Fuck," Satan groans, beginning to grow just as unhinged as you.

"My legs," You wail, feeling them tremble. " _My legs_ — holy fuck, Satan— _my legs are gonna fall off—"_

Satan pays no heed to your words, but to you, they seem almost _true_ because you can no longer feel your legs as they bounce against Satan's hips, the limbs feeling far away as he pushes your thighs further apart to fuck you even deeper.

"I can't—I can't—"

You're losing control again, words turning into moans as you throw your head back and feel the familiar weight of _orgasm_ press down above you, _so_ close but not quite there.

"Satan," You gasp out, no longer able to say or _think_ anything but his name. And it seems that he's in the exact same position as you, because he's now groaning your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until his choked voice has nothing but the familiar, gentle _love_ you're used to from him as his thrusts accelerate, and you _know_ he's close.

You clutch his shoulders for support, _desperately_ trying to hold onto your sanity for just a _few_ moments longer so that you can cum with him, so that you can cum to the feeling of his dick shooting his load inside you, so that you can spend this moment of bliss _with_ him.

But, as usual, the feeling of his cock filling you up over and over again is _too_ much to bear any longer, and you come undone with a final desperate cry of his name, your entire body spasming around him as your fingers claw at his back.

Tears are streaming from your eyes—you can _feel_ them making their way down your skin—but all you can focus on is the _lewd_ sound leaving Satan's lips as he follows you, and you come down from your high to the sensation of Satan shooting his cum inside you, the two of you trembling in each other's arms from the raw _bliss_ of it all.

You hardly register the moments that immediately follow, how you and Satan end up in a mess of limbs on the floor, bodies still tangled and his cock still _inside_ you as you simply hold each other.

You lean your head back against the wall, the hard paint feeling nothing but _cool_ against your flushed skin. You can still hear your heart beating desperately against your chest, still feel the soft press of one of Satan's hands as he cups your rear, still sense the numb aftereffects of sex that always leave your mind hazy.

The two of you remain like that for a long moment, trying to regain your breathing. But then, and this happens _awfully_ slowly, your minds begin to clear.

Satan shifts, pulling out from you, not commenting on the low whine you release at the feeling of no longer being filled, and you manage to lean more of your body back against the wall, opening your arms with a lazy grin in an invitation for Satan to cuddle. No words are necessary, years of friendship having cultivated your relationship to the point where all you need right now is the feeling of _each other_ , and nothing more.

It's hardly long before Satan is chuckling, brushing the tearstains from your cheeks and kissing your forehead, pulling you into his frame as the two of you remain on the floor, both too exhausted to move onto the bed.

"That was..." Satan begins.

_Amazing._

_Mind-blowing._

_The best sex I've ever had._

You glance into his eyes, and his expression says it all—he's thinking the exact same things as you. And you're certain he can read your mind the same way, by the lopsided grin he adorns.

"Loud," You finish his sentence with a smile, nodding your head towards the thin wall that you two were just fucking on.

Together, the two of you press your ears to the paint, listening carefully to the aggressive whispers of Diavolo and Lucifer.

"Do they think we're _idiots_ , or are they actually that _dense?"_ You hear Lucifer seeth, and you can almost _see_ the way he must be scowling right now.

"I don't know, Lucifer. That sounded awfully _intentional_ to me. I'd be willing to bet that this was Satan's way of repaying us for what _we_ do every night," Comes Diavolo's voice in return, which is _far_ calmer than Lucifer.

"I don't _care_ if it's Satan's way of 'repaying us' or whatever! He _crossed_ a line by bringing _her_ into this!"

"I imagine that was the point, Lucifer."

You let out a soft laugh as you pull your ear away from the wall, glancing at Satan, who is wearing an expression of pure _mirth_.

"Looks like your plan worked," You mumble, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

"Only one way to find out," Satan hums, closing his eyes and pulling you into an even tighter hug. "We'll have to see if they start fucking at midnight."

"'We?'" You ask with a grin, eyebrows raised.

"Of course," Satan mumbles—and if it weren't for the darkness, you might see that there's a faint blush to his cheeks. "In case Lucifer and Diavolo _do_ fuck around, I need you so I can disturb them as much as they disturb me."

"What a heartwarming sentiment," You snort, rolling your eyes as you lean forward to rest your head on Satan's chest, your breathing settling down into a familiar rhythm as you give in to the temptation of slumber.

"Oh, come on," Satan mumbles, shaking you. "What happened to you being a night owl? We have to clean up, come _on."_

_Yep. Sexy dom!Satan has gone to bed, and your best friend has officially returned._

You groan in protest as Satan lifts you and wraps you in a robe, pulling you into his bathroom where he gestures for you to, in his words, _shower, clean up, just do something other than try to fall asleep_ —which you pointedly ignore by lying down in the bathtub, already beginning to doze off when Satan curses under his breath.

"Get _up,"_ He nudges you, exasperation seeping into his voice.

"Let me sleep in the bathtub, you buttfaced baboon," You mumble sleepily, ignoring Satan's growls of frustration as he forces you into an upright position, giving you only a few seconds to process what he's doing before you see the shower hose pointed at you.

And then you're _drenched_ in cold water.

"Satan!" You practically scream as the droplets of ice strike your skin, the sensation shaking you from all plans of sleep as Satan snickers at your predicament from not four feet away.

"You _asshole,"_ You seeth, glaring at Satan once the water has begun to turn lukewarm.

He's about to flash you an arrogant grin when you turn the tables on him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the bathtub, using him as a shield when you lower the temperature and laugh at his expression. But then _he's_ trying to use _you_ as a barrier against the ice-cold water, and it's hardly working so _both_ of you are getting drenched by the freezing droplets, the two of you screaming and yelping—and you can practically _feel_ Lucifer's disappointment radiating in from the other room until the two of you finally manage to get ahold of the temperature handle.

By that point, though, you're both _thoroughly_ drenched and _thoroughly_ awake, so really, there only seems to be _one_ realistic solution: to proceed with the shower and bathe together. And though it's absolutely the strangest thing in the world, to shower with your best friend, it's still hardly as unorthodox as having _sex_ with your best friend, so neither of you seems to mind as you casually help each other out, only fighting over the water a _little_.

It takes barely ten minutes for the two of you to finish your respective routines, managing to clean yourselves completely until you look almost normal, grinning at each other like fools, your bodies washed off of all signs of sex.

You sigh and stretch, motioning for the shower handle, glancing at Satan as he attempts to do the same thing.

But as the two of you look at each other, almost ready to turn the water off and fall asleep, you both seem to glance down at each other's bodies at the same time—instinctively getting turned on by the memories of what happened not half an hour ago.

And in light of such _passionate_ remembrances, there's really only one thing left: Lucifer's greatest nightmare and simultaneously what is about to become your and Satan's _favorite_ thing in the world.

Shower sex.

;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 10.5k
> 
> Notes: Did I see Satan's UR+ card and drop everything to go write this? Yes. Do I regret everything? 100% Will this happen again? Absolutely.
> 
> Comment & Leave Kudos
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.


	2. Louder II

Diavolo's grin reminds you of the Devil himself.

"What do you want?" You hiss at him when he walks into the kitchen, the man grinning like an imp when he sees Satan preparing breakfast behind you. Ideally, you would be back in bed, sleeping the rest of your morning away without a care in the world, but sleeping with Satan means waking up with Satan, and your childhood friend can be awfully stubborn when it comes to dragging you out of bed.

"Oh, nothing," Diavolo mumbles casually, taking his seat across from you. You barely raise your head off the table to greet him. "But you and Satan, huh?" The redhead leans in close to you, eyeing the way the blonde is preparing breakfast. "It's good that you landed yourself a man who likes to cook. _Lucifer_ only makes me breakfast if it's a special occasion."

"We're not together," Satan calls from behind you, nonchalantly flipping an omelet on the frying pan.

"What he said," You slur sleepily, burrowing your head deeper into your elbow. You _desperately_ want to fall asleep right now.

Diavolo blinks.

"Huh?" He asks dumbly, glancing back and forth between you and your best friend, trying to figure out if he _imagined_ the sounds coming from your room last night. "But—"

"But _nothing,"_ Satan interrupts, setting your plate down on top of your head. You hiss at the temperature, the omelet and toast both warm enough that you flinch when the plate touches your skin, and you actually have to _stop_ trying to sleep to get the plate off your head.

You shoot a firm glare at Satan when he sits down next to you.

"Last night was to make a _point,"_ You say once you've lifted your head off the table, shooting a sharp look at Diavolo. "Because _some_ people are inconsiderate and rude about others' boundaries."

Diavolo chokes on his water.

"You guys _actually_ had sex to _spite_ Lucifer?" The man asks, eyes wide.

"Lucifer _and_ you," Satan correct, sipping a cup of tea. "Though, yes, I suppose my end goal was to suitably disturb Lucifer into ceasing your nightly...endeavors."

"You can say the word 'sex,' Satan," Diavolo mumbles, massaging his temples. "You literally _fucked_ your best friend into the wall loud enough so that we heard every word, so you can say the goddamn word 'sex.'"

"Hm," Satan hums, glancing at you with a grin on his face. "I suppose you're right."

The remainder of breakfast is characterized by that: subtle insults dancing back and forth between Satan and Diavolo, with both men dropping their passive-aggressive tones only when you speak up. The three of you are nearly completely done with your meal before anyone so much as _thinks_ about Lucifer, though by then, it's too late to go fetch the man—and he enters the room himself.

"Satan."

The three of you turn around, all eyes darting to the dark-haired man who spoke, his eyes burning with a hatred more pronounced than anything you've ever seen.

"A-ah! There you are!" You jump out of your seat, quickly placing yourself between Lucifer and Satan in case either man tries to fight the other. "How did you sleep last night, Lucifer?" You ask—before wincing, realizing that after what you and Satan did, there's _no_ way he was able to rest easy.

"It was delightful," The man responds, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Do you know what I particularly enjoyed? The moments when I got to listen to the sound of my _brother_ coercing you into—"

_"Coercing?"_ Satan hisses, standing up. "Lucifer, know the facts before you go around making those kinds of accusations—"

"I know enough," Lucifer hisses in response, taking a step forward despite you doing your best to push him back. "I know that _you_ used your vile tongue to trick _your best friend_ into sleeping with you out of spite _._ I knew you were low, Satan, but to think that you'd go as far as to—"

"Don't say it," Satan warns, his fists tensing. If looks could kill, everyone in the room would drop dead at the raw _fury_ emanating from your best friend's eyes. "Don't you _fucking_ say another word until you _know_ what's going on."

You and Diavolo exchange uncertain looks, all too aware that Satan and Lucifer are going to be at each other's throats unless you intervene.

You nod your head at the redhead, and the two of you spring into action.

"Lucifer, let's have a talk," You mumble, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him into the next room. You practically have to wrap your arms around his waist to get him to _move_ , but he follows you soon enough when he sees his own lover step forward and place a hand on Satan's shoulder, murmuring that they, too, need to have a chat.

"I'm so sorry for my brother's actions," Lucifer mumbles to you when you've closed the door. He pulls you into a hug, running his hands through your hair like you're a doll that's been broken. "I don't know _what_ he said to make you sleep with him, but I will make sure that it never happens again. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll inform the RAD headmaster about his actions. He'll be kicked out of the school, and you'll never need to see him again. I promise you, I'll be here for you every step of the—"

"Lucifer," You interrupt, silencing him instantly. You pull him onto the bed, forcing him to sit down across from you. "There are a few things you need to know."

He remains silent, his gaze nothing but serious when you place your arms on his shoulders.

"One," You say, looking him straight in the eye. "Satan did _not_ coerce me into doing anything."

"But—"

"But _nothing_ , Lucifer." You cut him off, making sure that he can see the sincerity in your eyes. "We are _adults._ I consented, and so did he. He didn't talk me into this at _all._ In fact, he was the one who kept asking me whether we should stop because he wanted to make sure that he _wasn't_ pressuring me."

"But you—he was—"

"Lucifer, think about it." You cross your arms in front of him. _"I_ was the one who came to his room yesterday. And you don't know it, but _I_ was the one told him yesterday that I wanted to have sex."

"But why?" Lucifer asks, eyebrows furrowed. "I _know_ the two of you aren't in a relationship, and I'm positive that neither of you wants to date each other. So _why_ would you sleep together?"

"You want to know the truth?" You ask, arching an eyebrow.

Lucifer nods.

"You know how you and Diavolo have really loud sex every night?"

Lucifer's cheeks flush at the realization that you know, but he nods his head anyway.

"Well, Levi and Simeon do the same thing. So just like Satan wanted to piss you and Diavolo off..."

"You wanted to do the same with Levi and Simeon," Lucifer finishes for you, sighing.

"So we agreed to do it together, to get everything out in one go." You shoot your friend a sheepish smile. "And also, Satan's, like, really good at sex."

"I bet I'm better," Lucifer mumbles under his breath.

"Lucifer!"

You swat him on the shoulder, and he cracks a smile—the rare, soft ones that he saves just for you.

"Make sure that you guys are being safe," He mumbles, wrapping you in a tight hug. You groan on instinct, already knowing that he's going to give you a whole _talk_ , but if that's what it takes to calm his nerves to the idea of his brother having sex with one of his closest friends, you'll take it. "Has he hurt you at all? Did he do anything to make you uncomfortable?"

"No, Lucifer," You groan. "You do realize that Satan _is_ my best friend? That he's the last person in the world that would hurt me?"

"Actually, _I'm_ the last person in the world who would hurt you," Lucifer clarifies—and you don't bother to argue with him, given that he's already made up his mind about it—but he doesn't let it distract him from the present conversation. "Do you guys have a safe word? Or are you using a color system?"

"Um..." You trail off, abruptly realizing that you _probably_ should have sorted that out beforehand. Lucifer's eyes narrow. "We'll make one. Right after breakfast. I promise."

"Seven hells," Lucifer mumbles under his breath, groaning to himself. "I'd appreciate it much more if the two of you just _didn't_ —"

"Have sex?" You ask. "Yeah, that's not really your choice."

You press a kiss to Lucifer's cheek, jumping off the bed and trying your best to pull him with you. "Now come on, I think you owe Satan an apology."

"Fine," Lucifer mutters, scowling as you open the door and tug him back to the kitchen. "I just hate the idea of this. You know that you could have simply spoken to me about my and Diavolo's arrangement instead of having sex? Do you _realize_ how awful it was for me to listen to Satan sleep with someone whom I consider to be my little sister?"

"Yeah, well, Satan is your _actual_ little brother, and you made _him_ listen to you fuck Diavolo all those nights, so this was some well-deserved payback." You grip Lucifer's hand tightly as you round the corner, pulling him straight into the kitchen where Satan is sulking, Diavolo wearing a proud expression on his face.

You glance at the optimistic-looking redhead, and his brilliant smile tells you all you need to know about how his talk went.

"Now, Lucifer," You say, turning to him. "What do you want to say?"

The man clears his throat.

"Satan," He mumbles, not looking at his brother. "I've been informed that last night's events came to be in a different manner than that which I had expected. I want you to know that while I disapprove of your methods, I do not...they do not warrant any kind of punishment."

You glare at Lucifer, squeezing his hand harshly at his wording. He flinches when he feels the way you're practically crushing his bone, and he's quick to speak up again.

"And—and I would like to apologize. For...implying the things I implied. Questioning your character without knowing the full truth was..." Lucifer flashes you a glance, and you nod encouragingly, already impressed with the length of his apology. "...wrong of me. I'm sorry, brother."

_He did a good job_ , you think, smiling softly when you realize that Lucifer genuinely seems to regret some of his words. _But not good enough._

You squeeze Lucifer's hands once more, digging your nails into his skin deep enough that you're positive there'll be crescents there when you let go.

"What more do you _want_ from me, woman—" Lucifer hisses under his breath, but when he catches the warning look in your eye, he remembers.

"A-ah," He mumbles, turning back to Satan. "And I will avoid—" You squeeze harder. "I mean, I will _not_ be intimate with Diavolo when you are in the next room. I give you my word."

Lucifer flashes his brother a pained smile, wrenching his hand away from yours the moment you loosen your grip, flashing both you and Satan a subtle glare.

You smile innocently.

The sound of a thump draws your attention back to Satan and Diavolo—and given that you didn't see the older man move, you're certain that he just kicked your best friend under the table—and then Satan is speaking up, barely concealing a wince.

"I—I accept your apology," He mumbles stiffly. Diavolo clears his throat, raising his eyebrows at the blonde, and then Satan is talking again. "And I would also like to inform you that Diavolo is forcing me—" The sound of another kick, one so loud that it makes you flinch. "Diavolo is _generously_ offering," Satan glares at the redhead. "To let me stay in his shared apartment with Barbatos four days a week, until we can clear a formal change in rooming assignments with the RAD administration."

Diavolo shoots a sharp look at Satan.

"And—and I would also like to apologize," Your best friend mumbles under his breath. "For taking extreme but absolutely warranted—" A kick. "I mean, extreme actions without discussing the issue with you beforehand. I'm..."

"What was that?" Diavolo asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm _sorry,"_ Satan practically hisses, glaring at his brother's lover—and you're quite confident that, in the present moment, your best friend doesn't know whether he hates Lucifer or Diavolo more.

You shuffle Lucifer forward, consciously seating yourself across from Diavolo instead of Satan to avoid any awkward comments, and you reach for a bottle across the table.

"So," You say, trying to break the silence which has settled over the room. "Who wants orange juice?"

And though no one accepts your offer, you pour everyone a glass, setting the plastic bottle down in the middle of the table once more.

And as you and Diavolo lift the glasses to your lips, you both grin at each other, eyes twinkling with mirth, utterly unaware and wholly uncaring of death glares Satan and Lucifer are shooting each other right next to you.

* * *

"Oh my goodness, I've walked into a pigsty."

You pick an empty box off the ground, throwing it at Satan's head at full force.

"Shut up," You mumble when he dodges easily, crossing your arms as you gaze at the state of your room. Which is _not_ like a pigsty at all—you simply happen to have a few things on the floor. "It's just a little messy, that's all."

"Messy is an interesting word," Satan mumbles, lifting a T-shirt off the ground and inspecting it, trying to figure out if it's clean or used. "Messy almost makes it seem like your room is somewhat decent, as if a tornado _hasn't_ spun around inside and thrown everything onto the floor."

"Stop exaggerating," You say, rolling your eyes as you step over the mess of textbooks and projects that decorate your floor. "Just follow my footsteps, and you won't step on anything."

But while you have no problem maneuvering through the obstacle course that is your room, Satan doesn't even _try._

"My brother has passed his awful habits onto you," Your best friend mumbles, frowning as he begins to shovel clothes aside, throwing them all into the laundry basket.

"Satan—Satan, wait! Those are _clean!"_

You scowl as your best friend ignores you entirely, thrusting every top and pair of shorts on the floor into the laundry basket without a second thought. His work _does_ make a difference, however minor, and he takes it as encouragement to continue.

"Why do you always do this?" You groan when Satan begins lifting your textbooks off the floor, stacking them onto your desk and clearing off the papers you had lain out while you were studying for Midterms.

"I wouldn't _need_ to do this," Satan mumbles, yanking open a drawer. "If you weren't such a hot _mess_ all the time."

"But I am hot, aren't I?" You joke, grinning.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." The blonde rolls his eyes, pushing you over on your bed so he can fluff your pillow and throw your blanket (which had also been cast to the floor) into its respective spot, and already the room looks a lot cleaner.

But with Satan, it's never enough.

You roll over and decide to try to take a nap while he works, figuring that you'll catch up on the sleep you missed in the morning. The sound of Satan rustling through your room ends up serving as fairly effective background noise, and you're almost completely asleep by the time he's finished.

But the sound of choked laughter pulls you awake.

"S'tan?" You mumble, rolling over to squint at the figure of your best friend. It appears that he closed the blinds to help you sleep, but you can still make out his figure standing in front of your closet.

The blonde snickers.

"Guess what I found~" He teases, grinning like a cat before dangling an unfamiliar object in front of you.

He clicks a button and the toy buzzes to life, a familiar sound filling the room.

Never have your cheeks felt so _hot._

"Give it _back!"_ You screech, jumping off your bed and onto Satan, tackling him to the floor in an attempt to get your dildo back.

"No way!" Satan exclaims, laughing as he holds your body back, holding the sex toy just out of your reach. "I can't believe _this_ is what you use!" The man laughs. Or really, _cackles_ is a better word for it. "It's so _thin!_ I'm way better!"

You knee Satan in the groan, or really, you _try_ to, but the man is doing a good job of holding you back even as he's dying of laughter.

"And really?" He gasps through laughter, looking at it. _"Rainbow?"_

"Shut _up,_ Satan," You groan, trying to counter your present humiliation even as you fight to get the object back and restore it to its place. "It might be thinner than you, but it's _longer_ , and I like my rainbow dildo better than the stupid sausage in _your_ pants."

"Wha—"

You take advantage of Satan's momentary offense to yank your dildo from his hands, thrusting it into your closet and slamming the door before he can say anything further on the subject. But when you turn to your best friend a second time, he's not even trying to get the sex toy back, he's simply scowling on the ground with his arms crossed.

In his present condition, he bears an uncanny likeness to Grumpy Cat.

"Aw, Satan," You coo, reaching for his cheek. "I didn't _actually_ mean that I like my dildo better than your—"

"Let's not talk about that right now," He snaps, and you arch an eyebrow in mild amusement.

_Is he genuinely offended?_

"Oh?" You ask, leaning forward. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Nothing," Satan mutters with a pout, and you fight the urge to squish his cheeks.

"Are you sure?" You ask. "Because if there's nothing _you_ want to talk about, there's something _I_ want to talk about—and I highly doubt that you'll like it."

"Tell me," Satan blurts, his curiosity piqued.

"Lucifer."

The blonde groans.

You stand and jump back onto your bed, tugging a pillow close to your chest while Satan sprawls himself out by your legs. "When he and I were talking this morning, he asked me whether we had a safe word or not." You squirm around so that you're looking Satan in the eye. "And I may have promised him that we'd make one."

You expect Satan to groan, to roll his eyes or to sigh grumpily, but all the man does is hum quietly, pondering your words.

"I suppose..." He begins. "I suppose my brother might be right. Just this once."

You smile.

"Perfect! What should our safe word be?" You ask. Your eyes begin to light up when you think about all the possibilities. "Can it be 'puppies,' Satan? I _love_ puppies. Or how about 'kittens?' Since they're so soft and cuddly—oh, and you love cats! Oh, oh! What about 'sprinkles?' I had dinner with Beel last week, and for dessert, we had the most _amazing_ molten lava cake, and it had ice cream on top! Oh! What about 'molten?' Doesn't that word just sound _so_ cool?"

"I don't think—" Satan interrupts, but you cut him off.

"Oh, I have so many more ideas if you don't like any of those! Should we name our safe word after a band? Oh wait, then it'll be a safe phrase instead of a safe word...so what about another adorable animal? Like 'panda?' Or 'koala?' Wait, but how should we decide between the two? Because pandas are cuddly, but koalas are cute..."

You trail off in thought, utterly torn between picking 'panda' or 'koala' as your safe word, when a grin settles over Satan's face.

"I have a better idea," He says, smiling cheekily at you.

"What is it?" You ask warily, already prepared to shoot his idea down.

_"Rainbow."_

* * *

Levi doesn't come out of his room for the entire day, moping inside his room over the fact that his lover is off elsewhere. He only learns that Satan is over when you text him and ask if he wants to have dinner with the two of you, to which he creeps his head out of the room, calls you both "normies," and snatches your plate of instant Maggi noodles away before withdrawing back into his room.

The only indications he ever makes to acknowledge his brother's presence in the other room are the sharp _thumps_ he gives the wall whenever the two of you are too loud, his noise always silencing your own.

"See?" You mumble, rapping quietly on the wall, listening to the _hollow_ sound that bounces forth in response. "These walls are _way_ too thin."

Satan can only imagine how you must suffer every morning.

"Is he always like this?" The blond asks, grinning in amusement.

"Only when Simeon isn't around." You sigh, leaning back. "And on Sundays, he _actually_ stays away the whole day, helping out at his church or whatever. Sometimes I feel bad for Levi, but then again, that means Sundays are the one day I don't wake up to the sound of fucking, so I don't mind it much."

"Ah, right," Satan muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "How do we know Simeon will even be here, then? Our methods won't be very effective unless they _both_ realize how loud they are, so..."

"Don't worry about that." You grin at your best friend. "Simeon almost always sneaks inside after midnight, even if he thinks he's being slick about it."

"Wait, so..." Satan trails off, his eyes darting to the clock.

"Yes." You nod your head, already aware of what's going through your best friend's mind.

"No," Satan blurts. "You do what you want, but I'm _not_ staying up till midnight. I got barely enough sleep _last_ night, not to mention the night before, and before _that_ was Midterms, so I am going to _sleep_ now, and—"

"But, _Satan!"_ You whine, pouting as your friend ignores you entirely, preparing for bed as he lifts his shirt off his shoulders and steals from your blanket. "Satan, _stop._ This isn't fair! You were able to stay up yesterday, when we were at _your_ apartment, so—"

_"Yesterday,_ we began right after dinner, and we were _asleep_ by midnight." The man shoots you a sharp glare, and you realize that this had been his plan all along.

"Wait a minute," You mumble, pulling your blanket back from Satan. "You _knew_ you were going to go to sleep! _That's_ why you brushed your teeth right after dinner, and—and why you put your phone to charge, and, and—"

"I am a simple man," Satan huffs. "With simple needs. And now, I am going to _sleep."_

"Satan!" You exclaim in horror, and a sharp _thump_ from the wall next to you prompts you to lower your voice. "Goddammit," You hiss in a whisper, shooting your so-called 'friend' a glare. "Is this how you're going to be, Satan? You're in _college_ for God's sake. Act like it! It's _nine_ P.M! Is this the precedent you want to set for the rest of your life? Do you want to be the kind of man who has sex on a schedule? Who goes to sleep when the nightlife is supposed to _begin?_ Who _reads_ in his free time and is utterly and completely _boring?"_

"Yes," Satan huffs, pulling the blanket _back_ from you, pulling it over his chest before yanking you closer to him, effectively burying his face in your torso. "Wake me up when it's time to have sex."

You groan.

Why is your best friend _already_ acting like a sixty-year-old man?

You try, desperately, to pull yourself out of Satan's grip, but his muscled arms hold you in place even when you try to knee him in the face.

"Either turn the lights off or stay here," He mumbles, voice muffled by your T-shirt.

You sigh when you realize that Satan's using your body to block out the light, so you reach over to turn your lamp off, grabbing your phone in the process. But even with the room turned dark, the blond refuses to relinquish his hold around your body.

"Let go of me, you dumb donkey," You mumble in protest, trying to push him away. As usual, though, your best friend pays you no heed and only grips you tighter as you switch your phone on, making no signs of moving away as you shift into a position that'll be slightly more comfortable for the two of you.

It's not long before Satan's breathing has turned even, his shallow breaths warming your abdomen through your clothes.

"Hey, Satan?" You mumble, shaking him lightly. Your eyes skirt over the picture you're looking at on your phone, an idea coming to mind. "Satan, wake up."

The man grunts, but that's enough to let you know that he's awake.

"Can I be on top when we have sex this time?" You ask. "I—I mean, I know you're probably not used to subbing, but Asmo bought me these _amazing_ red ropes, and I know you usually prefer green, but I think you'd look _so_ pretty if—"

"Yeah, yeah," Satan grunts, barely registering your words. "I trust you enough to let you do what you want. Just please, for the love of God and all that is holy, do me a favor and _let me sleep."_

You grin then, pressing a kiss to the top of Satan's head before continuing to run your fingers through the soft strands, lulling him to sleep in a silent apology for waking him up in the first place.

But your thoughts are elsewhere.

Your mind is focused on the image in front of you, which details how _best_ to tie someone up for sexual pleasure, and your thoughts are preoccupied with the fact that, even though it was more to get you to shut up than anything else, Satan actually _agreed_ to let you have your way with him.

You've never been so excited.

The next three and a half hours pass by quickly, with your sharp ears searching for the distinct sound of Simeon stumbling inside. Everything else in the dorm is quiet, save for Satan's soft breathing. The arms that are wrapped around you are at last loose, barely holding you in place now that all the tension is gone from the man's muscles.

And when you hear the telltale sound of a door creeping open (followed by some soft mutters and the sound of Simeon cursing to himself in whatever PG swears he uses), you strike.

Pulling yourself out of Satan's arms is an easy feat. He groans a little when you push him onto your back, his arms still attempting to cling to you, but with a few shoves, the man is lying down on his back, still asleep and none the wiser.

Your next step is to fetch the ropes Asmo gave you as a birthday present. (It was a drastic improvement from the year when he gifted you some fancy lingerie and a bullet vibrator, but you chided the fifth-born anyway for his selection.) Wrapping them around Satan's wrists proves to be easy enough—and you've never been more thankful that the bed in your room has four posts on the corners of it.

Recalling the instructional tutorials and images you've been staring at on your phone, you tie the knot quickly and lean back, double-checking to make sure that there's enough room for your best friend to wriggle his wrists around.

You don't want to leave marks, after all.

Or well, you _do._ Just not on his wrists.

Tying Satan's left hand is a little easier, your knot a little tighter, and, before you know it, the man's upper body is tied to your bed.

You grin at the sight, Satan's body splayed out so _defenselessly_ before you turning your imagination wild with thoughts of all the things you can do to him...and you turn your eyes upon his lower body.

You recall Satan's words.

_"I trust you enough to let you do what you want."_

And just like that, you've set yourself upon working the man out of his pants, grinning like a fool at the prospect of everything you'll do to him once he's fully tied down.

* * *

When Satan wakes, it's to an unfamiliar feeling. He can tell that the blanket has been stripped off of his body, and he feels _awfully_ cold, but there's something else. A thin, dainty feeling: like someone's touching him, but just barely.

The man rolls his head to the side, breathing in the scent of the pillow. It smells like you—not the fragrance of the perfume you wear, but the actual scent of _you,_ the soft aroma of comfort that you carry even when you're freshly showered—and Satan realizes abruptly that he must be in your bed, and you must be lying down on top of him, and that's why he can't move.

But then, that line of thinking doesn't fully pan out; because Satan _knows_ that he's bigger than you and that no matter _how_ you tend to sprawl out on top of his body, you're never so strong that he can't even move beneath you, and _that_ thought is what compels him to open his eyes.

And so green meets (e/c) in an unmistakable gaze of confusion, surprise, and then acceptance.

A lazy smile forms on Satan's face as he realizes his predicament, sleep fading from his mind when he glances up and tugs experimentally, testing how tight you've tied the ropes that bind him.

_Loose,_ he realizes. _Almost too loose._

"Took you long enough," Your voice calls, bringing Satan's attention back to you. "I thought you weren't going to wake up _at all."_

"You could have shaken me," Satan responds defensively. "Or woken me up _before_ you tied me down."

"Was that not okay?" You ask quickly. Your hand darts over to the knot, fingers prepared to untie them in a moment if Satan expresses even the slightest reservation about his predicament. "I know you said you trust me enough to let me do what I want, but—"

"No buts," Satan says, grinning. He tugs on the ropes that bind his feet, finding that they fit a bit more snug. Still not as tight as he'd prefer, but certainly an improvement. "I said I'd let you be on top this time, so..." Satan tries to gesture, but his hands lose their emphatic nature when he can't move his arms. "Go. Be on top."

You flash Satan a grin then, eyes delighted at the prospect of getting to have _him_ at your mercy this time, and the blonde muses that it's good you decided to tie him up. He already feels the urge to turn the tables on you, to fuck your brains out until you're a babbling and gasping mess the way you were last night. And indeed, the very thought makes his dick a little harder—because you've never been as beautiful to him as you looked with your head rolled back, tears streaming down your cheeks as your nails dug deep into his skin.

You hum innocently as you rest a hand on Satan's bare thigh, completely innocent to the thoughts running through his mind as you retrieve an object. And then it's Satan's turn to be oblivious, the blonde nothing but confused as he squints in the darkness, trying to figure out what you're holding.

"What's that?" He asks, slightly apprehensive.

"The feather pen Lucifer gave me for my birthday," You chirp, grinning. And suddenly, Satan realizes what the soft, light sensation on his body was.

He swallows.

Satan _knows_ that feather pen. It's from the year when all Lucifer handed out to anyone for a full year _was_ feather pens, refusing to declare where he got the high-quality objects from but simply handing them out to his loved ones at every opportunity. Even Satan had received a couple, and he's tested the feathers, scrutinized them under the RAD lab equipment. They're unnatural but natural, in no way artificial but certainly not from any known bird, the color so rich that it seems like it reflects no light but stunning all the same, every barbule smoother than the last, all of them amalgamated in a giant, premium-grade softness that feels _heavenly_ to the touch.

You draw the feather closer to Satan's skin, and he tenses in anticipation.

"You're such a good boy," You whisper into his ear, and then the man is sighing in bliss as you drag the tip from his abdomen to his clavicle, running the feather along the indents of his collarbone.

_It's soft,_ Satan realizes. _So soft._

He's always known that these feather pens have had a unique texture, and he's spent many afternoons simply running his thumb over the hairs, savoring their touch. But never has he tried taking advantage of the feather's texture to _touch_ himself, not the way you're doing so intimately.

Lucifer would be _mortified_ to learn his gift is being used so lewdly.

The very thought makes Satan grin.

His chest lurches upward when you lift the feather off his body, desperate to chase its sensation, but you hold him down, shaking your head with a sassy smirk on your face.

"Uh-uh," You coo. "You're not in charge, Satan."

The man shoots you a sharp glare, but its intensity is dulled by the fact that he's completely at your mercy.

It's abundantly clear that you're having fun with this.

And indeed, you are.

The smile on your face is nothing short of _delighted_ as you drag the feather down to Satan's thighs, drawing delicate circles on his thighs before trailing the feather along his cock, lifting it from the base to the tip. The shudder of Satan's spine makes you lick your lips—and you're abruptly reminded of how sensitive he was last night when you crept between his legs.

"Damn," Your best friend mumbles in a low groan, his eyes scrunched shut. He opens them every now and then, green eyes focused on the dark length between your fingers, but all you need to do to close them again is brush the feather by the tip, and then he's a groaning mess, head rolled back as Satan savors what little sensation you're willing to give him.

You lean forward, straddling him carefully so that you don't touch him—entirely unwilling to let him appreciate anything more than what you explicitly give—and press a wet kiss to one of his nipples, your tongue darting out. Experimentally, you run your feather down by the wet patch of skin, and the choked gasp that leaves Satan's lip is all you need to hear to know that _wet_ means _better._

You grin, leaning down to suck his other nipple before latching your lips onto the skin, leaving a wet trail as your tongue drags down his body, darting sharply around his half-hard cock to lap at his inner thigh.

"What are you—ngh," You cut Satan off sharply when you lift the feather and trace it down the wet trail you left, turning the plume on its side so that its softness seems to cut down on the sensitive skin. You watch with a grin as Satan's erection grows more pronounced, his hips bucking off the bed when you draw a spiral around his hardened length.

"Look at you," You mumble, and Satan opens his eyes. You can't help but think that your best friend has never looked more _cute_ than in this moment, with his hair disheveled and his eyebrows scrunched tight. You can practically hear the needy whine that's begging to be released from his throat. "I've barely even touched you, and you're already so hard."

You grin at the flush that springs to Satan's cheeks, the red embarrassment that coats his face standing out in stark contrast to his pale complexion.

"What would happen if I _actually_ touched you?" You asked, setting the feather down on Satan's stomach. It twitches every time he breathes, and the boy instantly tries to get some semblance of control over the rise and fall of his chest, but you throw his plans into the water the moment your hands grip his cock.

"Tell me," You demand, eyeing the man. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

There's a moment of silence, then. A moment where Satan is doubtlessly debating whether to give in or to be stubborn, to fight for the spirit of dominance that he carries so naturally or to hand it over to you, to resist temptation a little longer or to give in.

But after a moment of deliberation, he exhales sharply—breath hitching when he feels how the feather brushes against the skin on his chest at the movement—and opens his mouth.

_A wise choice._

"Up and down," Satan mumbles, his voice so low that you almost consider making him repeat himself. "Make your grip a little tighter— _fuck_ —just like that. Y-yeah, and keep doing that thing with your thumb, and— _oh_ — _"_

"And what's the magic word?" You ask, brushing your thumb along Satan's slit to collect the precum that's gathered before using its moisture to swipe the underside of the tip, moving your other hand up to cup his balls.

"Th-thank you?" Satan chokes out meekly under your ministrations, his brain growing foggy now that you're doing _exactly_ what feels good.

"Hm," You mumble, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. "I was going for 'please,' but what you said works as well."

You grin at the man as you continue to work, your brain completely preoccupied with the slow movements of your fingers as you fondle his balls and continue to work his length. Satan's breathing is faster, now, and erratic as his thighs twitch, held down only by your body weight as you straddle the man. The feather you placed on his chest is crooked, thanks to the way his body has been twitching so vigorously under your hands, but that just makes it _better_ , because every time it moves, Satan gives a little gasp.

"F-faster," Satan mumbles, leaning his head back as he bucks his hips into your hand. "Please..."

You heed his words, giving him what he wants as you accelerate your pace without tightening your grip, now massaging his balls. The feather twitches on his chest, falling into the defined V of his pelvis, and the man gasps a lewd moan, and just as you're certain he's about to ask for the final push, for you to just go a _little_ faster—you pull back.

The sound that leaves Satan's mouth is _desperate._

"Wha—why—" His face is something between a pout and a look of disbelief, and you swear you see desperate little _tears_ glistening in his eyes before he blinks them away, trying to gain control of the hips which are still bucking needily into the air.

"Shh," You silence him, lifting the feather back up, and your grin tells Satan all he needs to know.

"No," He blurts. "No, _please. Please_ , I'm so close, just don't—"

"Don't?" You arch an eyebrow. "You don't want me to touch you?"

"Huh?" Satan asks. For the first time in your life, the look in your best friend's eye can be characterized as _dumb._ "Wha—I didn't—I didn't say that—you know I didn't—"

You grin as the blonde fumbles with words, the normally-articulate man reduced to an incoherent mess when he's distracted by the way he's still on the brink of orgasm, and how your fingers are _so close_ , but not close enough.

You worry for a second that he really might cry, but he blinks the tears away in a pathetic attempt to hold himself together.

_Interesting_ , you note, filing the information away for later. _He can't handle being deprived of pleasure._

"Hm," You interrupt nonchalantly, grinning at how whiny he's become. "I'm afraid I don't know what you meant, but if you don't want me to touch _you_ —"Satan tries to interrupt, tries to convince you that he _does_ want you to touch him, but you give him no chance. "Then I'll have to touch _myself,_ hm?"

_That_ shuts him up.

Satan's eyes are incredibly wide as he watches your fingers reach down toward the junction between your thighs, the sight obscured by his dick which, for the first time in the entire night, he wishes _wasn't_ standing so proudly.

"I can't—I can't _see_ —" He tries to complain, but you block the sound of him out, closing your eyes as you slip a finger inside. Your earlier workings were focused on Satan and Satan alone, but the sight of the normally-dominant man reduced to a babbling mess did things to you that you'd rather not describe—the only important fact being that you're positively _soaked._

You're abruptly relieved that you discarded most of your other clothes earlier, but now even your underwear feels restrictive, so you tug your panties off, throwing him onto the bed so _close_ to Satan but still out of his reach.

You don't miss the yearning look in his eye when his fingers reach for your underwear in vain.

Taking off your bra is a little harder—given that you still have one hand dipped between your folds, shallowly fucking your cunt—but you manage to do it all the same, practically ripping the fabric off before you move to grope yourself, releasing a breathy sigh when your fingers pinch the pert bud of your nipple.

"Fuck," Satan says from beneath you, but the curse word sounds like a prayer as he watches you, and you don't need to open your eyes to know that he's memorizing your every move.

You can practically hear him swallow.

"This feels good," You mumble to no one in particular. _"I_ feel good. My fingers work so well, don't they, Satan?"

"Yes," The blonde murmurs in response, and you can tell from the strain in his voice that he's aching to touch you. "Your fingers are so good, babygirl. You were doing so well when you handled my cock earlier—if you could just do it again for a little longer, then we could—"

Your eyes narrow when you realize that Satan is articulate once more, his mind cleared now that he's had a breather. You almost think about punishing him for calling you babygirl, maybe pulling him to the edge a second time and then forcing him to cool down without climax, but you push the thought aside when your fingers brush against your G-spot, and then you're barely even thinking about the man beneath you.

"Fuck," You mumble, your head rolling back as you ride your fingers. "Fuck, Satan. I don't even _need_ you. I could just make myself cum and leave you tied up here for hours, edging you over and over again..."

Your body lowers the _slightest_ , and Satan just _happens_ to arch his hips upward, the combined movement between the two of you brushing your clit against his cock and the two of you both gasp—and then your eyes are settled on the man's groin, imagining all the ways he could fill you up, all the things that riding his cock would do that your fingers just _can't._

"Ride me," Satan mumbles. He lifts his hips desperately, but he can't make you do anything in his present condition. _"Please."_

"Beg," You command, watching your best friend with an unwavering gaze. His eyes widen momentarily, fingers tensing into fists out of irritation for you because out of everything he did to you yesterday, not once did he force you to plead with him. "You're good with words, aren't you?" You grin, eyes watching the way his throat bobs as he swallows. _"Beg_ for me to ride you, or I'll cum on my fingers and leave you here."

An empty threat, giving that you can practically _feel_ how your hole is aching for more. But Satan doesn't know that, and he can't even see how wet your cunt is, the view blocked by his own cock which throbs with need.

"P...please ride me," He mumbles, a flush on his cheeks. You nod your head at him, a silent cue that _yes,_ this is what you want him to do.

But he'll have to continue if he wants you to do anything.

"Please," Satan whispers again, closing his eyes. Out of kindness, you let him, choosing instead to savor the rare nervousness which coats his voice when he speaks again. "I want—I _need_ you to sit on my cock. Fuck, your pussy is so perfect. And—and your hands are good, but I _need_ more. Please. I'm trying to be good for you, but I—I can't take it—if you leave my tied up here and keep teasing me, I—I don't know if I'll be able to _control_ —"

"Shh," You mumble, leaning in to press a kiss against Satan's lips before he can get into his own head too much. "That's all I needed to hear."

You reach behind you, fumbling awkwardly as you try to find the bottle of lube you'd placed on your table in preparation for this, and press four thick squirts into your fingers, coating Satan's length generously.

He groans the second you touch him, bucking into your hands with a vigor that almost makes you think he wants a handjob instead, but his eyes never lose their determined tint, and the man watches with almost embarrassing alertness as you position yourself on top of him.

"Do you trust me?" You mumble, glancing at the ropes. You wouldn't mind undoing them if Satan wants them off. "We can—"

"No," Satan blurts quickly, swallowing thickly, and you immediately realize that he wants you here and now, and that he can't wait a second longer.

Which is a good thing, because neither can you.

Resting your hands on his abdomen (and only _briefly_ admiring the firmness of Satan's muscles), you lower yourself onto his cock with astonishing ease, gasping a sigh of relief when you feel how _perfectly_ he fits inside you. He feels just like last night, maybe even _better_ now that you have full control of the angle, and for a moment, you just rest your head back and savor the thickness, the beautiful _fullness_ that rests in your nether regions when you fit all of him inside.

Your thighs twitch, instinctively realizing that at this angle, Satan's cock is positioned _directly_ at your G-spot, every twitch of his cock sending a rush of pleasure to your core.

"Move," Satan commands, and you might tell him off for pretending to be in charge if he didn't sound so _needy._

And so you begin to rock your hips.

Hands resting on Satan's chest to stabilize yourself, you raise your thighs and rest your full weight back down, bouncing experimentally on his dick.

It feels _so_ good.

"Faster," Satan mumbles, bucking his hips upward when you remain momentarily frozen atop him. You shoot him a warning look, and he relents. "P-please, I mean. Please...go faster."

You sigh at that, reaching a hand out to cup Satan's cheek before grinning.

A peck on the jaw is the only warning he gets before you're bouncing on his cock fully, hips rising and falling as the two of you gasp.

Satan works perfectly under you, his hips thrusting up every time you come down to force you up, and the smooth rhythm you've set up is _perfect_. Your fingers tense on their position atop Satan's chest, nails beginning to dig into his skin, and Satan moans lowly in response.

It's a beautiful sound.

"Louder," You mumble, digging your nails deeper. The man groans in response, growing a little less hinged, but you can _see_ the way he turns every grunt into a hiss, his teeth clenching ferociously every time you snap your hips down to meet his.

"Louder!" You repeat, pressing down on his abdomen, savoring the way his breath catches, and you grind on his lap for a moment, catching him off guard when he tries to buck his hips upward.

"Satan," You warn, lifting your hips and pressing his body down so that he can't fuck into you if he tries. "If you keep—"

The man doesn't even give you the opportunity to threaten him; he's already begging for you to keep riding him, not a single care in the world about the volume of his voice as he pleads with you.

"Don't stop," He chokes out, trying in vain to lift his hips. "I'll be loud, I promise, just please don't—"

He's not even looking at you, his eyes are scrunched so tight. And staring down at him, you _know_ this is the most vulnerable he's ever been for anyone. The most vulnerable he'll ever be for anyone. You know that you're the only person in the world who will ever get to see him beg like this, and you're the only person in the world whom he'll _let_ see him beg like this, and the very thought fills your heart with such warmth and affection that you can't _help_ but acquiesce to his request, dropping your hips and lifting them again to the loud rhythm of Satan's moans which, at last, are fully unhinged.

At this precise moment, if either of you paused in your movements, you would hear the sound of voices in the other room. You would be able to hear the awkward silence between Levi and Simeon as they realize what's happening, and the abrupt (albeit terrifying) realization of how loud _they_ must be every morning.

Indeed, it would be a moment to savor: a moment that you and Satan doubtlessly would want to hear, record, and joke about for years to come.

But the two of you are so focused on your pleasure, on the moment, on each _other_ that neither of you is thinking anymore about the boys on the other side of the room, and two of you are simply chasing your own highs.

You gasp when you feel your orgasm approaching, already prepared for the white-hot dam that's about to be unleashed when you cum—but what you're wholly unprepared for is the dirty talk that begins to spill out of Satan's mouth as he realizes that _you're_ almost there and _he's_ not, the blonde taking full advantage of his clear mind and your cloudy one to regain some semblance of control in this situation where he's all but powerless.

"You look so beautiful," He practically purrs from beneath you. "Bouncing on my cock like it's the only thing you know how to do."

You can see him reach out with his hands, presumably to grab one of the tits that bounce so temptingly in front of him, but the bindings around his wrists hold him back.

"Shu—" You shudder, eyes rolling back when he thrusts particularly hard from beneath you. "Shut _up,"_ You all but moan.

"Shh," Satan whispers, thrusting into you. And now, you're going at _his_ pace, your aching thighs only willing to move when _he_ gives you the push you need to lift them up. "Untie me," He mumbles. "Untie me, and I'll make you cum _so_ hard."

Your resolve instinctively wavers at that proposition. After all, last night was nothing but a demonstration of how good Satan's skills are in bed, and you _know_ that he can give you the high you seem to be skirting around but never finding.

But in the brief clarity you get from trying to think, you _understand_ what your best friend is trying to do, and you summon the final remnants of your strength to push his hips down, forcing your body to ride him with a renewed vigor even though your thighs scream in defiance every time you lift them.

"Shut _up_ , Satan," You blurt, eyes losing focus once more when you find yourself so close to orgasm. "I can...I'mon top. Not you. _Me."_

The man says something, then. He rolls his hips into yours, and you bounce on his cock once, twice, thrice—but by then, all sounds are far away except for the lewd moan that spills from your lips as you convulse around Satan's length, your entire body abruptly torn away from the moment and into a glimpse of paradise, where there's nothing but mind-numbing pleasure.

It feels otherworldly.

You gasp abruptly as your eyes flutter open, realizing now that you've practically crumpled over on Satan's form, barely holding yourself up.

Your best friend grins at you.

"Guess you love my cock that much, huh?" He asks.

And at that moment, three words run through your mind. Three words which have defined your friendship over the years. Three words that are reflected in the way you stare at his oh so _mischievous_ eyes:

_What a twat._

You give your best friend a firm scowl, a new decision forming in your mind as you torture your thighs once more and begin lifting your hips up and down his length. But this time, you're not doing it to chase your high. No, you almost _avoid_ your G-spot with how sensitive it is, and your _only_ goal is to bring Satan to the brink of orgasm.

And to ruin it completely.

The next words he tries to say are caught in his throat as he's forced to get used to your speedy rhythm, and it's hardly long before he feels _himself_ drawing closer to that high.

"Holy shit..." He mumbles lowly, fingers balling into fists where they remain tied to the bedposts, scrunching his eyes tight to focus _solely_ on how tight you feel clenched around his cock, your pussy simultaneously pushing him out and sucking him deeper as your thighs tremble with the need to stop while your mind refuses to let them.

Your hands find their way onto Satan's body again, using his abdomen to support practically all of your upper body weight as you continue to desperately bounce, quietly wondering _how_ far this boy is from orgasm and how much longer you'll have to torture yourself—but your answer comes quickly when a low groan spills from Satan's lips.

"Fuck," He groans as you roll your hips into his, fingers beginning to dig into his skin as you try your hardest to hold yourself together. "Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —"

And then that single swear becomes the only thing Satan knows how to repeat as you lift your hips and drop them completely, eyes widening when you see the telltale stiffening of his muscles as his green eyes shoot open, almost _there_ but not quite.

Your legs practically collapse then and there, mesmerized by Satan's hungry gaze, and you can _see_ the moment where his mind begins to slip away, giving into pleasure.

_One more_ , you tell yourself as you lift yourself off Satan's lap, your thighs trembling desperately as your body forces itself to raise. _I just need to move one more time._

"Wait—" Satan blurts the second he sees what you're doing, his eyes widening in a strange combination of confusion, realization, and _horror_ —but then it's too late to stop what either of you has started, and you pop off of Satan's dick only to collapse on his thighs, watching with a sense of morbid curiosity as he cums.

It's absolutely mesmerizing.

"Fuck you!" Satan roars at you, and you can't tell whether he's being so loud because he's angry or because it feels good, but then you can't bring yourself to care because you're so focused on watching his ruined orgasm play out.

You stare, with morbid curiosity, as his dick bounces with every spurt of cum, the thick, white ropes flying into the air and descending shapelessly onto his stomach, and your stare is filled with nothing but _awe_ as you study how the head twitches the whole time, as if his cock is confused about where its partner went, why you left him.

_Beautiful,_ you think, still staring at his softening member.

You reach a hand out, already prepared to collect some of his seed in your hand and may feed it to him, to grip his dick and overstimulate him, to touch his quivering length and soothe it.

But Satan doesn't let you.

It all happens so quickly. You hear the sound of your best friend growling, but you don't realize how truly _angry_ he is until you hear the sound of rope ripping—and then you abruptly realize that he's managed to slip his right hand out of his bindings and used that to _tear_ his left hand free. It seems to take seconds for Satan to wrench his foot free—and you hear, with horror, that the force with which he pulls his leg free actually _breaks_ the post you tied him down to, his other leg wriggling free as well, and then he's _flipped_ the two of you so that he's the one on top.

And for the first time, the look on Satan's face is pure _wrath._

"What the _fuck,"_ He hisses into your ear, his green eyes glaring into yours with such pronounced fury that you feel _scared._ "Made you think it was okay to do _that?!"_

He grabs your wrists and yanks them above your head, holding them there with a single hand in a grip so strong you know you wouldn't be able to break out of it if you tried.

You can hardly think straight as he stares at you like you're the most vile thing on the planet, the eyes that are normally so soft and affectionate now filled with nothing but unbridled rage. "I—I—"

"You—you—you _what?"_ Satan hisses mockingly, and suddenly you realize that the man in front of you _isn't_ your best friend. No, this is something else entirely, something wholly and utterly terrifying. The man who's staring at you looks _demonic_ , his eyes utterly wild and illuminated solely by the shadowy haze of fury _,_ his rage burning like hellfire as he scrutinizes your restrained form.

_This is what Satan wanted to protect me from_ , you realize, heart faltering.

And you've gone and set the darkest part of him free.

"F-fuck," You mumble, your frame beginning to tremble. "Fuck, Satan. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. It—it was stupid. I didn't realize it'd make you mad. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad—I'm—I'm so fucking sorry—"

You're babbling at this point, and you can feel tears begin to well in your eyes. You're not looking at Satan anymore—if you did, you might see the way his anger melts when he detects your fear—and all you can think about is how terrifying his gaze looked as he stared down at you with pure rage after your little stunt.

"I'm sorry," You repeat, now beginning to cry, trembling completely underneath Satan.

Your eyes are scrunched tight, terrified for the worst. You can hardly see the way the anger in his eyes shatters the second he hears your fear, a sinking feeling settling in Satan's stomach when he realizes that it finally happened: you saw his dark side.

"Oh my god," He mutters—and indeed, his words are a prayer to the god above, desperately hoping that he hasn't ruined the one friendship he only ever wanted to treasure.

You open your mouth to babble apologies again, but before you can mumble another desperate plea, Satan's silenced you, his arms embracing you whole in a hug so loving you know there's no wrath left.

Your words falter instantly, feeling nothing but _hesitant_ in Satan's arms, but then _he's_ the one apologizing, and you can hear the pain in his voice.

"I'm sorry," He whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, the man looking almost as if he's trying to hide from you. "I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what came over me—I—I mean, I just got so _angry,_ and I...I wasn't thinking clearly. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry."

He repeats the words repeat like a mantra, desperately begging, pleading with you to forgive him. He truly does everything: he offers to leave here and now, he offers to call Lucifer and have him come help, he offers to leave the RAD, and he's in the middle of offering to walk out of your life altogether so that you never have to see him again before you muster up the courage to silence him with a kiss,

Satan pulls back out of sheer surprise, and when his green eyes find yours, you can see the heartwrenching swirl of emotions lurking in the depths of his mind as he beats himself up over losing control of his anger while being simultaneously confused by your actions.

"Don't be sad," You mumble, taking a shaky breath. It's a moment before you muster up the courage to do so—your mind still haunted by the lingering memory of that terrifying gaze Satan shot you with—but you manage to wrap your arms around his neck. He watches with wide eyes as you take a few more calming breaths and expel the memory from your mind, focusing instead on the picture presently in front of you: the boy who looks nothing but _miserable_ as he begs for your forgiveness.

"Please don't forgive me so easily," Satan mumbles the instant he realizes what you're doing. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. This is why—this is what I was afraid of. I can't control myself around you. You're—you're too good at riling me up, and—and—I almost _hurt_ you for real, so please, please, _please_ don't forgive me—"

"Shh," You mumble, cutting the blonde off when you see the way tears are welling in his eyes. "Don't cry, Satan."

"I'm not crying," He responds stubbornly. And, sure enough, he blinks back the tears that are fighting so desperately to be unleashed—and the very fact almost makes you chuckle, because no matter what the situation, no matter how terrifying that look in his eyes was, he's still _Satan_ and you know that he would never hurt you.

"Okay," You whisper, flashing him a gentle grin. "But you didn't hurt me, Satan. You got a little angry, you scared me a bit, but you didn't hurt me."

"I lost control," He mumbles, dropping his head back into the crook of your neck where it's safe, where he doesn't have to fight back the tears. "I lost control around you _._ When I promised you that I wouldn't."

You pretend that you don't feel the sudden wetness on your shoulder.

"Satan," You mumble, lifting a hand to his hair, running your fingers through the strands until you're certain he's not crying. "Satan, you told me yesterday what might happen. You told me about how scared you were to lose control, and I told you not to worry about it. This is as much my fault as you seem to think it's yours. But..."

You reach for your friend's face and cup his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you through tear-stained cheeks. "But Satan," You whisper. "I didn't use our safe word. No matter what, I wasn't scared enough to think that I needed to—"

"No," Satan interrupts. "You were _too_ scared to even _remember_ we had a safe word. You thought—I thought—we both know I could have _hurt_ you!"

"But you didn't," You clarify, frowning.

"But..."

"No buts, Satan. I trust you. You trust me. I tied you up, and when you were vulnerable, I...I got carried away. And then, you got carried away. But we're fine now because we _still_ trust each other. Right?" You ask, brushing his tear stains away. Even through your encouraging words, he looks nothing but _pained_ as he continues to dwell on what he's done, but you can tell that the self-loathing voice in his head is being drowned out by your words. "Right, Satan? You still trust me, don't you?"

Your best friend blinks, abruptly turning to you. "Yeah. Yeah, I trust you. Of course." He says the words as if they're the most natural thing in the world, like they're a truth written into the laws of nature: the sun rises in the east, bears hibernate in winter, fish live underwater, and Satan trusts you.

"I trust you the same way," You mumble, and only _now_ does a hint of recognition flare in his eyes. The same unconditional trust he has for you is reciprocated—and just how he can't fathom a world where he doesn't have full faith in you, you will always believe and trust in him.

You wrap Satan in another warm hug, pulling him as close as is humanly possible. And finally, he relaxes in your hold.

"Do you want to continue?" You ask him after a long silence, your gaze nothing but sweet and _trusting_ as you look up at him. "We can stop now, or—"

"No," Satan murmurs, listening to the quietness on the other side of the room. Neither of you knows yet that Levi and Simeon are already awake, that they're desperately covering their heads with pillows and are wholly unaware of everything going on in this side of the room, but you both recall what your purpose here is. "No, no, please." Satan leans back, gazing at you with hopeful eyes. "Please let me make it up to you."

"There's nothing you have to make up for," You mumble, cupping his cheek. "Please know that."

"Please," Satan responds, shaking his head. "I...it'll make me feel a lot better if you let me do this for you."

You stare at him for a moment, then, slightly skeptical and concerned that he might be a little too emotional. A little too worried. A little too vulnerable. But the pleading look in his eye wins you over, and within seconds, you're relaxing in his hands, giving him a gentle nod.

"Thank you," Satan whispers, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that conveys his every emotion. You almost chase his lips for a moment when he pulls away, wanting more of the raw _passion_ that only Satan can make so ardent, but when his lips ghost over your skin again, already peppering their way down to your thighs, you can hardly complain.

"Please don't tease me," You mumble when you feel Satan nibble on the skin below your belly button, and you can practically _feel_ the grin on his face from your words.

"Of course," He whispers in response, and then his tongue is at last where you want it to be, and you relax completely.

Satan's touch is completely different today, nothing like yesterday. Every little movement is meant to bring you straight to pleasure rather than teetering around it. His movements are filled with an unmistakable warmth, the rare, special kind that can only be shared between two who trust each other to the fullest, and he massages your aching thighs masterfully as his tongue dives in and out of your folds, lapping up the wetness that leaks out of your cunt.

"Satan," You practically mewl, reaching a hand down to thread your fingers in his hair. There's nothing teasing about the way his tongue is fucking your hole; the man knows exactly what you want and is giving it selflessly, no reservations holding him back as he pulls you to paradise as a silent apology for moments prior.

"Satan, that's _perfect._ Right there, just—" Your breath hitches when he swirls his tongue around your clit, sucking on the bud with a perfect balance of pressure and tenderness. "Oh my god," You whisper. "I can't, it's _too good,"_ You blurt, fingers tensing in Satan's hair.

You almost try to press his head down deeper, but the man moves on his own accord, his tongue brushing against your clit the moment it slips _inside_ you, and then you're orgasming, your whole word fading to blankness as a familiar pleasure sets in. Satan's tongue never stops its ministrations, devoted wholly and solely to your pleasure, and he only ever moves away when you give a low whine, your fingers tugging weakly on his hair.

"Satan," You mumble, eyes clouded with lust. All you can think about is how amazing his tongue felt inside you, and how much _better_ you know his cock will feel.

"Satan, fuck me," You plead, not caring about the fact that you're subtly asking for him to be on top. Because who even cares about that? You _need_ this right now, and your thighs are too shaky to possibly try riding him a second time, so you'll let him take the reins when you know he's so willing to do. "Please," You add for emphasis.

"Really?" Satan asks, and although your eyes are still closed in pleasure, you can _hear_ the boyish grin in his voice. And the very thought warms your heart, because you know it means that he's regaining his confidence, his faith in himself. "You want my dick?"

"Yes," You mumble, cheeks flushing at the bluntness of his words.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Satan!" You exclaim, a mix of frustration and amusement setting in at his blatant demand. "Fine! I want your dick. There. Are you happy now?"

"Very," He quips in response, leaning down to peck your cheek.

"Lube's on the table," You call out to him, not bothering to look up as he rolls off your bed for a moment. When he comes back, he has a mischievous grin on his face, the kind he wears whenever you know he's been up to no good, and you narrow your eyes in concern. "Satan, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," He responds instantly, still wearing that shit-eating grin. He pecks your lips, urging you to close your eyes. "I got the lube. That's all."

"I highly doubt that's all," You mumble, but then you feel something poking at your entrance, Satan's hand quietly pushing your legs apart, and you cease your complaining _solely_ because you know you want his cock inside of you and _now_.

"Hurry," You mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck as you let him spread your legs, pushing his cock inside of you.

But the second it's halfway in, your eyes snap open in confusion.

"What the—" Your eyes dart down, and you scowl the second you see Satan attempting to fit your dildo inside you, the rainbow toy covered in lube and sticking out of you. "Satan," You mumble in disbelief, shaking your head.

"What?" He asks defensively. "You said you wanted me to fuck you. And before that, you said you liked your _dildo_ better than me." The blonde pauses thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "What were your words again? Ah, I remember: I believe you said you liked your little _toy_ better than the 'stupid sausage' I have in my pants."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"So, darling, I'm just giving you what you asked for."

Satan presses a hand against your thigh as he continues to slot your dildo inside you, taking note of the way your pussy clenches around it as he fits it inside—but no matter how your body reacts, the gaze he shoots you is knowing.

_Why doesn't it feel good?_

You tense when he fits its whole length inside you and turns it on, watching as you squirm when the rainbow toy vibrates and spins. And although it should fill you up deliciously, although it should be amazing, because you bought this toy _specifically_ with your own needs and desires in mind, you feel nothing but desperate as Satan pushes it around in your insides.

You groan, not in pleasure but in need, need for something more.

It just _doesn't_ feel right. It doesn't brush against your G-spot the way Satan's cock does even when he pushes it in. It doesn't feel big inside you, your body aching for something thicker to wrap around. It doesn't feel warm as it presses uncomfortably inside you, and for once, your favorite rainbow dildo feels like nothing but a cold intrusion into your body. Empty and soulless. Boring and dull. Cold and _useless_ —the exact opposite of Satan's dick.

And he knows it.

"Satan," You whine, bucking your hips uncomfortably, hating how even the pleasure that the dildo brings you feels tame compared to what Satan was thrusting your way earlier. "Please. Did you seriously take that to heart?"

"Wasn't it you who said you like this better?" He chides, pulling out and thrusting it in. And though the toy hits you in the perfect place, it's nothing compared to what you were feeling before. "After all, you said this is _longer,_ isn't it? Didn't you say you like this _better?"_

"Satan," You mumble through a moan. But you're able to stay more focused this time, because no matter how good the dildo feels, your mind is preoccupied with the temptation of something better. "Satan, I didn't mean it. You know that. Your dick is better."

"Best," Satan corrects, pulling the dildo almost completely out, leaving just the tip in. He shoots you a warning look.

"Yes," You mumble, sighing. "Your dick is the best. Are you happy?"

"Hm," Satan hums, pulling the toy out completely and switching it off, discarding it on the floor. "Say it again," He tells you, spreading your thighs. And the sight of his length positioned between your legs, prepared to enter but refusing to until you take back your words from before.

"Your dick," You gasp lightly when he enters, the tip slipping inside. "Your dick is the best, Satan." You close your eyes and let yourself pull him back so he's hovering over you, using the final remnants of the strength in your legs to lock your legs around his hips and pull him deeper. "So please," You mumble into his ear, saving these words for him and him alone. "Please just _fuck me."_

And that's all it takes.

Your words—reassurances that you hadn't meant what you said earlier alongside your desperate plea for Satan to get over himself and just give you what you want—are the boost the blonde needs to bury himself inside you.

Your arms latch themselves around his neck, holding his body close to you while bracing for the rapid, heavy thrusts he'd shown yesterday, but tonight, as he fucks you, the atmosphere is completely different.

He doesn't just grip your ass, but he genuinely seems to be holding you with the way his arms wrap around your back to settle on your hips. His thrusts aren't desperate, meant to tear you through orgasm after orgasm, but are instead tender, almost loving as Satan fucks you slowly and purposefully, savoring every sound he pulls from your lips.

"Oh my god," You mumble, pulling Satan into something akin to a hug, pressing your body as close to his as possible. "Oh my god, Satan, _yes._ That's _perfect."_

He isn't fucking you rough like you asked for yesterday. He isn't giving you the treatment he gives others, heedlessly domming you until you can't remember your name, desperate to send you to pleasureland and nowhere else. No, as Satan's hips roll into yours, his cock angling _beautifully_ into the one spot that makes your toes curl, he's fucking you the way he'd fuck a best friend: with the sole goal of bringing you to paradise and making the journey as blissful as possible, no strings attached.

You can barely register the quiet compliments he purrs into your ear as he fucks you, the legs you've wrapped around his waist fighting to hold him closer even when he lifts his hips to fuck into yours.

A wanton moan spills from your lips, unmistakably loud as it fills the room.

"You're so good," He mumbles between kisses, peppering them all over your ear and neck. "You're so fucking perfect."

Your fingers cling to the skin on his neck, barely restrained from digging your nails into his skin, but then Satan is whispering into your ear again, urging you to _let go_ and let him take care of you and for you to you give in to temptation, letting your best friend take you somewhere only _he_ knows the route to, fucking you slowly but passionately with every thrust leaving you aching for more.

_"Satan,"_ You gasp, eyes fluttering closed. "Satan, _faster._ Please, please, I just need it—"

He responds to your desires instantly, accelerating his pace to match your desires without losing focus of his goal, and you can _feel_ how he's getting close with the way his thrusting begins to grow erratic.

Your eyes roll back, letting go completely as he fucks you into the bed, still gasping praise into your ear—and for a moment, you can't help but think about how _ironic_ it is that even the two of _you_ are now moaning praise into each other's ears the way Levi and Simeon do every morning, but then it doesn't even matter because you feel _yourself_ growing close to the edge and a single look in Satan's eyes tells you that he's almost there as well.

"Oh my god," You moan out loud, mustering the strength to lift your hips off the bed to roll them into Satan's. You can barely hear yourself over the sound of the bed, which is so old and creaky that it seems to be moaning _with_ the two of you, but you know that you're being loud, as loud as Satan likes it, because moments later, he's desperately babbling about how perfect you are.

"I can't," He gasps, thrusting wildly. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna—"

You watch, mesmerized, as your best friend accelerates his thrusts, muscles tensing under a sheen of sweat as his eyes go from scrunched tight to wide open, and he orgasms a second time. Only this time, it's not his dick that you're staring at—it's _him._

And he's never looked so precious.

You wish you could savor the moment for longer. You really do. But the memory of Satan's expression coupled with the overwhelming feeling of his seed shooting _straight_ at your G-spot has you gasping for breath as your rake your nails down Satan's back, the final remnants of strength in your thighs being used up as you clench your legs around Satan's waist, locking him in place as you gasp through the sensation that blanks your mind out.

"Holy fuck," You mumble seconds later when you're positive that your orgasm is over, but your body is unable to move, still trembling as you hold Satan impossibly close. "Holy fucking hell."

Your best friend is in an equally powerful state of bliss, the man practically crumbling on top of you as you both fight to regain control of your breathing. But still, the position doesn't change. And the two of you feel so close, so comfortable, so intimate that neither of you moves for a long time, basking in each other's arms until Satan's cock is soft and your thighs are no longer trembling.

It feels like hours have passed when you finally muster the strength to unwrap your legs from Satan's, letting them fall unceremoniously onto the bed as Satan pulls out, his breath hitching when he sees the way his seed dribbles out of you.

"Like what you see?" You ask, flashing him a wink.

"Shut up," He retorts, rolling his eyes. "You're not going to put up a fight about cleaning up again, are you?"

And you consider it.

You really do.

But eventually, logic (and the weight of Satan's glare) compels you to shake your head, and you let the man help you into a seated position.

"I don't have robes," You explain. "Because I'm not fancy like you, but there are some really big T-shirts in my cabinet, and we can wear those when we go to the bathroom."

But Satan arches an incredulous eyebrow your way.

"You expect me," He gestures down at himself. "A grown man, to walk out of your room in nothing but a _T-shirt?"_

"An oversized T-shirt," You correct him, already feeling sleepy. "But we could sleep if you don't wanna wear it," You slur, rolling over on the bed to hug your pillow.

"Oh no," Satan mumbles, frowning when he sees the way you're already preparing to drift off. "We are _not_ doing this again."

You listen to the sound of ruffled clothing, as Satan unmistakeably wears something more decent than a simple T-shirt—and then you can feel your pillow (which you dubbed, roughly eight seconds ago, 'Fluffy McStuffington the Third') being snatched away from you as Satan orders you out of bed.

"Come on," He orders, snapping his fingers. "Up."

You bat his hands away, scowling at him even as you awkwardly shuffling out of bed and hobble onto the floor. But the second you place your foot down, the ground _wobbles_ , and then you've collapsed to the floor with an unceremonious "oof."

Satan arches an eyebrow at you.

"Can you actually not walk, or did you just trip over your dildo?"

"Both," You respond quickly, not bothering to get up. "But we should think of this as a sign. From God, ya know?"

"Oh yeah? And what's that sign?"

"That this floor is very comfortable, and I am going to sleep on it," You respond, tugging your blanket off your bed to wrap it around your frame, instantly burritoing yourself in it with a few rolls.

Satan groans.

"Okay," He mumbles, more to himself than you. The blonde squats down next to you, and you desperately try to roll yourself away from him, but your burrito-blanket betrays you, and with a single tug, he's rolled you into his arms, and then within seconds, he's got you lifted over his shoulder, your ass lifted in the air as you wriggle and desperately try to get free.

"Satan!" You whine, pulling at his hair. "Let me _down!"_

"So you can try to go to sleep again?" He asks. And you truly have no counter for that. "Nice try. We're cleaning up."

He yanks open your door and walks out of it—and you groan in pain when your head collides with the top of the door frame.

"Be _careful,"_ You hiss, giving him a firm whack on the head as payback.

"You wouldn't have hit your head," He retorts, "If you had chosen to _walk_ like a _normal_ human being."

And in the absence of a proper comeback, you whack him on the head a second time.

"Okay," Satan mumbles, stumbling out into your hall, flipping on the hallway light to find the bathroom. "This is abuse."

He blinks in irritation when the obnoxious light comes on, his mouth opening to complain about it the moment he has to squint to see the shapes in front of him.

And he blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

_Ah,_ he thinks. _Well, this is unfortunate._

The blonde stiffens awkwardly as he makes eye contact with the red-faced couple that had been trying to sneak out of their own room, the blue and brown-haired boys looking like a pair of deer in headlights the moment they realize that they've been spotted.

The atmosphere of the hallway instantly shifts, an uncomfortable stiffness setting over everyone but you as you continue to wriggle on Satan's shoulder, trying to see why he's stopped moving.

Still, no matter how uncomfortable or _awkward_ this setting is, Satan knows that he's a guest in this house. And he knows his manners.

So his demeanor is nothing but cheerful as he swiftly tugs your blanket down, hiding whatever skin had been exposed and raising a hand to wave at the men before him, the blonde quietly cursing every god in the world for putting him into this situation.

He forces a smile to his face, desperately hoping that his face isn't as red as he thinks it is.

"Well, hello there, Simeon! How are you?"

And then the wriggling on his shoulder has ceased, and all four of you are uncomfortable with nothing but shame, humiliation, and embarrassment to keep you company as you collectively brace yourselves for what doubtlessly will be the most awkward conversation of your lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 14.1k
> 
> Notes: Tumblr asked for a part 2 and so we have part 2. I kinda regret this, but I regret everything and 4 am so
> 
> Comment & Leave Kudos
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.


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